Written Secrets
by delminions
Summary: Jonathan looks, acts and seems like your average guy - except that he's secretly an international bestselling author. After releasing the final installment of his bestselling series under the pen name of Sid Rouile, he decides to catch up on a life he's missed out on in the 10 years that he had spent working on the books... (cont in prelude)
1. Prologue: The Month Before

_(The summary that got cut off) Jonathan looks, acts and seems like your average guy - except that he's secretly an international bestselling author. After releasing the final installment of his bestselling series under the pen name of Sid Rouile, he decides to catch up on a life he's missed out on in the 10 years that he had spent working on the books, and heads to sunny California to return to school. Documenting his life in undated journal entries, it is there that his life gets more complicated than it ever had been before. With each written secret, his life begins to unravel, and relationships begin to blossom..._

* * *

Sid Rouile. Sid fucking Rouile, author of the global bestselling series _Gold_ , household name and presumed millionaire, the mysterious man that everybody wished to meet, that everybody wished to know. The man of a million questions – what is he like? What does he like? What does he do? Where does he come from? Most importantly, who is he?

That's my life to the public world. Sid fucking Rouile, man of a thousand mysteries, the faceless author that nobody knows anything about except for the fact that he penned a series that solidified its position in the eyes of the world as one of the greatest action and mystery novel series to ever be written. After nearly ten years of writing professionally under the pen name of Sid Rouile, after nearly ten years of secretly living as the renowned author – in the process allowing this hulk of a figure to overshadow my real life - I think I'm done.

Nobody knew I was Sid Rouile – at least, nobody significant to me knew. Other than a few choice close friends and a few close family members that I had let in on the secret, nobody knew. Best of all, nobody could figure out. Who would've thought bumbling, stammering old Jonathan who couldn't even string a sentence together without mixing up his words at least _once_ would've had such a way with his words? Who would've thought that insane old Jonathan with the goofy, clown-like laughter would've been capable of something introspective? Who would've thought that little Jonathan, the nerdy joker in the back of the class, would've managed to live a life bigger than his own?

And so nobody suspected a damn thing, and simply accepted that Jonathan, the Jonathan that was almost mediocre in school, the Jonathan that was slow to pick up some things and notice others, the Jonathan that could barely tell his left from his right, the Jonathan that never went on to do anything big or extraordinary after he graduated with less than amazing results from high school, was doomed for an unimpressive life.

Except, in a way, they were right. My life – Jonathan's life – has been pretty fairly unimpressive and eventless. When my first essays came back with gracious comments and praise from teachers about how surprisingly well-written they were, I kept quiet and kept my head down, keeping all that under wraps. There wasn't anything to boast about – there were so many better writers out there that wrote much better than I did. No matter how many books I read and how many words I understood, I could never pluck them out of my vocabulary and put them to their proper uses, be it in everyday life or in writing. I told that to my senior year English teacher, who disagreed. "What is impressive about your writing isn't that there is an expansive vocabulary that outranks everybody's writing, but that you translate the emotions of your characters into words so smoothly that it's hard not to relate to them." She then encouraged me to write more, insisting that I had a potential that I needed to tap into. I couldn't take her words seriously – Jonathan was dull.

When I started penning the first of the _Gold_ series – _Fresh Gold_ – I kept quiet once more. I wasn't proud of what I was writing, not at all. I kept looking at the other books and novels I had in my collection and I kept wondering why I couldn't match up to these bigger, better writers. Maybe it was the comparison that killed it for me – putting enough emotional stress on me that I somehow poured it all onto the pages. When _Fresh Gold_ was picked up by an editor – and later a publisher – I had to keep quiet again. I thought they were kidding when they said that the story was a rollercoaster ride. I could hardly believe it either when the reviews came in for the book, ranging from rave reviews singing high praise for the story to mixed reviews commenting on where it could've improved. But I couldn't celebrate – not openly at least. I lay low, smiling and laughing quietly in my home with Luke with a couple of glasses of rum and coke and a few slices of thick, cheesy pizza. There wasn't much for me to celebrate about. I had to get back to work and continue writing the next novel in the series. I had to get back to work at my part-time job at the game store, and pretend that I was _just_ good old Jonathan the part-time game store clerk. Besides, the achievement wasn't mine. It was Sid's - Sid fucking Rouile's. Sid's life was impressive. Jonathan's wasn't.

But don't get me wrong here. It's not that I detest being Sid Rouile. Sure, he might've taken over my life and the bastard may have made Jonathan seem like a doofus next to the hulking greatness of a genius that he was. But I loved every moment of being Sid. I loved writing as him, and I loved being secretive. I loved having all the privacy in the world that came with the anonymity, and I loved being able to pick out my writing materials and my groceries and my video games at stores without being recognized for who I was. I loved being able to watch movies and read books at the library without having people come up to me asking for pictures, and I loved being able to hang out with Luke at all the restaurants and diners in the city without having extra things coming to our table 'on the house'. I loved being able to walk around the neighborhood without having people yelling out my name – or Sid's name – and how much they loved me. I loved not having fanmail come straight to me, in my mailbox or in my email inbox, flooding me with all the comments, love or hate, and all their gifts. I loved being Jonathan, and I loved being Sid at the same time. I wasn't even in the least bit bothered that Jonathan wasn't getting any bit of the recognition that Sid was getting, or that Jonathan was simply an average man living his average life when he could've been big and famous. I liked my life as Jonathan and my life as Sid separate.

What irked me was writing as Sid. It wasn't easy every step of the way. When I broke out with _Fresh Gold_ , people saw the potential. People wanted more, and they wanted better. People had expectations. I had my first block there, an obstacle that I struggled with for the second book. I pondered over the question for the longest time – "In _Soft Gold_ , how should the friendship between Ash and Grant develop further? Should it even develop? Should it simply fade?"

I went about with that question for so long it began to infect my conversations. Almost all of my foster siblings thought their friendship should experience some violent tumult that broke them apart before it strengthened itself slowly. Mother thought it would be best if their friendship faded – it was a mark of reality. James, my manager and editor, agreed with her on a personal level.

The comments on multiple sites on the Internet disagreed vehemently with both sides. People wanted their friendship to grow and to flourish. People wanted to see the possibility of them coming together as best friends. Some of the more hardcore fans wanted to see them come together as a couple. Some wanted to see them both break apart, stating that Ash deserved better. It wasn't easy at all, between deciding whose hearts I should break – mine, or the readers'.

What irked me as well was how the readers felt about Sid. Whilst I knew most of my audience revered Sid for his writing and for his stories, it unnerved me to know that I had people who were more interested in the man behind Sid Rouile, the person behind the mask. The countless speculations about who he might be did not bother me – it is but a price to pay for prompting the curiosity of hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions – but the _possibility_ of someone taking it into their own hands to find me, to find who I am and the life that I lead irks me and makes me worry every once in a while for my own private life. When would someone eventually find me and expose me to this world? Where would little Jonathan run, then, to protect his own secretive, quiet life?

Thankfully enough, James has been my guardian angel from the start of my career as Sid when I made it clear as day to him that I did not intend to unmask myself or to let Sid Rouile be _just_ a pen name. Sid would be an entire person of his own, separate from the life of Jonathan Lewis Smith. He understood immediately what I wanted and desired, and he worked harder than ever to keep my privacy alive. Fanmail was redirected away from me, addresses, email addresses, all forms of personal details obscured. He was my shield, my protector from the prying eyes of the world that wanted to see more of Sid and know more about who lay behind the name.

He was also the first person I went to earlier to confide in about my intentions to take a long hiatus as Sid Rouile. I told him I had to stop after _Death Gold_ was finalized and finally released for the world to enjoy. It had been ten long years of commitment to an identity and to a series, and I deserved a break. Sid Rouile deserved a good long break.

"What are you going to do, then? People are going to ask questions." He mentioned. "They're going to bombard the offices with letters and fanmail asking where you've gone and what you're doing that you have to go away for so long. We'll need an official statement from you that will settle their spirits and make them accept you're taking a break."

"I don't think they need a reason. Sid's life is none of their business." I dismissed, to be frank, stupidly.

"Ten years and you've yet to learn the basics of public relations." James sighed disapprovingly. "It's a good stance to take personally, that your private life is none of anyone else's business – but these are your fans we're talking about. They'll want an answer, especially since you're going to vanish for quite some time. They'll feel entitled to know a bit about you and who you are and where you're going. They'll feel entitled to know how long you're going to make them wait."

"Look, even _I_ don't know where I'm going. _I_ don't even know what I'm going to do, or – or how long this break is going to be." I confessed slowly. I was never good with spoken words – writing was more my field. I had more time to think and to slowly wait for words in my vocabulary to surface. Besides, my brain seemed to be connected more to my hands than my lips. "I'll just be really – really glad to let Sid off my… my hands for a bit. This way I can live as Jonathan again, and grow as Jonathan."

James looked at me with keen, discerning eyes. I knew he knew what I was trying to say, because he answered –

"You know what? Leave the fan questions to me. Take the time off, work on yourself. You've worked hard for the past ten years. You've missed out on a good load of things. People have been doing things you haven't been – going to college, dating, getting married and having kids. Take the time off, get started on some of these things, maybe. Or just go on a long holiday in Tahiti and get more inspiration. Just make sure you come back stronger than ever, okay?"

And so he left, my manuscript for _Death Gold_ firmly stowed in his briefcase. He was right, I _had_ missed out on a lot. Sid Rouile started the moment I left high school, taking over every bit of my life. I never went on to do the things many other people did. I just lived as plain old Jonathan, silly little Jonathan that didn't seem good enough for college, while I wrote out pages and pages that detailed a world under the name of Sid fucking Rouile in the dark.

Not long after he left, Luke came knocking on my door. He seemed more excited than usual, whilst I remained – again, stupidly – oblivious as to why. He rambled on about things at a faster pace, his actions were more dramatic and animated than usual. Every once in a while, while he thought I wasn't looking, his eyes would shift to the coffee table where the paper bag he brought lay. Or maybe he _knew_ that I _was_ looking and was deliberately doing so to make me pay attention to it. Either way, I caught on quickly to his oddness.

"Okay, what's up?" I interrupted before he could start another sermon about the problem in his day that day.

"Oh. Nothing." He shrugged, his eyes darting towards the paper bag again.

"You keep looking at that paper bag." I accused, and I watched as something shifted in his eyes. "It's like you don't want me to question it, or you want me to notice it."

"Oh." He said simply, and began to take an interest in my face for some odd reason.

"What's up, Luke? You're weird."

He examined my face for a little while longer, before he frowned. "Seriously? You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" Stupid, stupid me.

"It's your fucking birthday, moron. You really don't remember that?"

"Oh." It was my turn to vocalize simply. I truly forgot about my birthday, mainly because I willed myself to forget about it so many years back. The prospect of turning old was uglier than ever to me, for it reminded me constantly about how much I was missing out every year. At twenty-one I tried to forget that I should've been in college by then, and I should've been happily celebrating in a bar with my college friends about how I was allowed by law to consume alcohol. At twenty-five I tried to forget that I should've already graduated college by then and started on that little childhood dream of mine to travel the world. It was only in the recent years that it was almost so easy to forget my birthday, the date in the calendar the somehow always managed to summon the beginning of the summer heat waves.

Luke shook his head in disapproval. Every seemed to do that these days – be in constant disapproval of me and my actions. "You really forgot. For god's sake, you're nearing thirty, the big three-oh. That's a milestone you don't want to miss."

"If it's anything like all these years, it's a milestone I _will want_ to miss." I bit back. "Thirty is not a nice number, by the way. Just another forty or so years – if I'm lucky – till I die."

Luke shrugged. "Over thirty here, still feel great. I feel like I'm living life to the fullest. Anyway," He picked up the paper bag haphazardly from the side of the table and chucked it into my lap. "Your birthday gift. It's nothing special, but you'll like it."

With a sigh, I peeled open the paper bag and spilled its contents into my lap. Of course it was nothing special, but Luke knew exactly what tickled me most. A thick hardcover journal landed on my lap, the simple, plain surface embossed with thick gold letters spelling my initials. Just beside it was a clear plastic box with various writing equipment in it, ranging from quills to professional looking ballpoint pens.

"Like it?" Luke asked, barely able to conceal the timid edge in his voice. "I mean, everybody's probably given you something like this before, possibly every year –"

I cut him off. I had to. "I love it, Luke. I fucking love it. You know how much of a soft spot I have for this sort of things. Everybody else gives me video games and story books and action figurines and for some reason magazine subscriptions, but nobody has ever come up with _this_."

He grinned sheepishly. "I got tired of simply giving you all those after nearly twenty years. I thought you deserved something nicer and better to celebrate ten years in writing."

I grimaced. "I only just told James – he came and left before you did – that I was going to take a very long break as Sid and stop writing professionally for a while."

I expected Luke to be shocked. I expected those dark brown eyes of his to go wide, and the thin hard line of his lips to part in surprise. I expected all of that. Except he was far from it. He seemed completely calm and unsurprised by this revelation, as though it was something he had long seen coming.

"You're not surprised?" I queried.

"Not at all. You've been kind of out of it for some time. You just never really noticed and just plowed on with your story. I mean – you didn't look like you hated being Sid. You just looked really tired."

"So why did you give me these?" I held up his gifts gingerly, afraid to even move them in case I'd do some weird damage to it.

"Because it's you. I can't stop you from writing. I can't stop you from needing to express your feelings or telling another story. Even if you're not going to write professionally, you're going to end up writing something. You're a storyteller, Jonathan, and you've always got things to say that you can't ever get out of your mouth. Just like how Mom and Dad could never rip the book or the controllers out of your hands back in those days."

I sighed at the memory of the better part of my childhood. "Those were the days."

"Those were the days," he agreed. "You grew up to be an oddly tough nut, you know that? You sure don't look the part, but you're pretty tough."

And so here I am with this wonderful journal and an exquisite pen set. He was right – I _had_ to write. I had finished with writing _Death Gold_ mere days ago, but my life was emptier than ever. I _had_ to tell a story, and I _had_ to express my feelings. I _had_ to use Luke's gift right away to detail every single thing in my life, because right after I was finished with telling a story that I made up, I had to tell another story that I crafted – the story of my life, and Sid Rouile's life.

* * *

The news broke earlier today, just as _Death Gold_ was set for release a few months down the road. It was the talk of the streets – at least I thought it was. The bookstore was unusually packed when I went down to pick up a few more notebooks and some ink, and I could barely squeeze myself into the stationery section, much less make my way to the cashier. For the first time in forever, it took me a full half hour before I could even walk out of the store with my wares.

But I digress – the bookstore was where I heard some of the wildest speculations about me and my temporary departure from the literary world. Or rather – Sid's departure. If I ever had expressed my joy at never hearing my name yelled out in public, or even Sid's name yelled out in public, I suppose this joy and the desire to keep this joy alive had been strengthened by the events at the bookstore.

All around me was chattering, intense and unrestrained. Nobody seemed to be holding back – people were fanatically introducing their friends to the first three instalments of the _Gold_ series, commenting on what made the series so intensely well-liked and summarizing the qualities of the plotline. Another group of people were lining up towards the cashiers, _Rose Gold_ tucked underneath their arms – perhaps to catch up on the story before the release of _Death Gold_ , I thought.

It was, however, a group of girls nearby the entrance of the bookstore that caught my attention. Each of them had different books from the series tucked underneath their arms amongst the rest of their shopping, and they were talking loudly, excitedly and with such intensity that I had believed they were discussing some serious world issue before I came within earshot of them. Instead, they were discussing none other than the great Sid Rouile and his works as well as his hiatus from professional writing.

"I wonder if he's taking a break to get married! I heard he was!" One of them cried, the colorful streaks in her hair giving her words an added dramatic quality as she swished them about.

"That'd be so cute! It's so romantic – him meeting the love of his life, and then abandoning all this fame and glory for this one person that he's so in love with!" Another squealed, her voice sharp and piercing.

"I know," a third drawled dreamily in high tones. "It's so sweet. He sounds like such a sweet guy, too! Just the way he wrote _Rose Gold_... Oh, god, I'm not going to spoil it for the two of you, but so far, it's so good..."

At that point, I walked away with my purchases, unwilling to hear more. I was _not_ taking a break to get married, and I definitely had not met the love of my life, as pleasing as the entire affair may sound. Yet, hearing such intense and wild speculations about my life and about Sid's life made me so aware of how badly I needed the world to hear less of Sid for a while. It was too much. I needed to retreat back into the shadows and just be good old Jonathan, just for a while.

I will not deny, however, that _Rose Gold_ was written with a romance in mind. The months of writing the third book of the series were so intensely thrilling and passionate, I wondered if when I awoke from the dream, I would be so immensely drained of energy that I could not bring the tetralogy to a close. I spent days and nights – depending on how deep into the darkness I wrote myself into before turning in – lying in bed with my heart thrumming rapidly and forcefully against my chest, excited beyond measure about the deep love I held. The other side of my bed would be empty, devoid of a sleeping partner, but I would pretend that I had one by deliberately sleeping in on one side of the bed and filling the other side with a bundle of pillows. Each morning when I awoke, I would turn towards the largest of these pillows and hug them, sometimes even pecking them gently as if I were kissing a lover. It was a ritual I kept up with in the months that I wrote, a ritual that began in the month preceding the start of my work.

It almost sounds like an odd thing to do and an odd habit to have. Truth to be told, it wasn't a habit as much as it was a desire. I needed to be held every morning, and I desired to kiss, and to be kissed every morning. I was very much and very shamefully in love, and in love with someone that could never be beside me for much of my days and all of my nights no less. At that time, every moment we spent felt like both a blessing and a curse – a blessing for every little sweet nothing we managed to sneak, a curse for every time when we had to leave each other's side. And so whenever I came home from whatever little of a date I could go on, I was both drained and reinvigorated, spent, yet raring for more. It was this feeling that I decided to capture in _Rose Gold_ , and it was this feeling that I needed badly to express and let out. Like Luke said, I _had_ to tell a story.

But at this moment, this very moment, I had little desire for an attachment. Even if those girls offered themselves to me, I would have rejected them based on three simple things – that I was no interested in a romantic relationship, that I was not interested in a romantic relationship with my fans, and that I was not interested in a romantic relationship with _them_. Whilst the first two are easily susceptible to change with time and with circumstance, the third was quite a solid rule I held based on my impression of them as well as the fact that they were not quite what I looked for in a partner.

That's why the questions kept coming – "When are you going to find someone? Who are you dating? When are you getting married? When are you going to get on with your life, Johnny boy?"

It was because I was almost always alone, and whenever I found something, someone that came by, I lost the opportunity as soon as I held it in my hands.

* * *

Luke's been dropping by recently, and he asked if I've been writing frequently these days in the journal he gave me. I told him that I had, mainly because that's what I've been doing these days in the place of writing the _Gold_ series. I ended up asking myself one night – Why am I still tiring my hand out and wasting the ink of my pen on relentless and irresponsive paper?

I think it's been mentioned before that I'm no speaker. I stammer and stutter and I babble when I can't think. Sometimes words are in my head and etched in my vocabulary but refuse to surface on the tip of my tongue at the right time. Sometimes I get all tongue tied and I jumble up all my words. Writing is so much easier, and I doubt I could ever possibly tire myself from it.

Luke is also trying to get me to tell me what I'm going to do now and where I'm going to go now that I'm not going to be Sid Rouile for a while. He thinks I'm being all secretive and not telling him anything on purpose, but in all honesty I really don't know. Maybe I do, but I've yet to realize what I really want to do. I'd love to go out and see the world, but how? I'd love to catch up with my life, but is it too late? Should I travel? Should I go back to school? Should I give the dating scene another shot, even though I already know how it would end – in complete and utter failure? I wish Luke wouldn't ask me, so I wouldn't ever have to think about it and I wouldn't ever have to answer.

It's been a comforting time so far not being Sid Rouile. For once – after a long time – it feels like I have space in my mind to breathe. No longer is my head filled with constant thoughts about how I should go about describing Ash and Grant and Gabriel and what they would do, and no longer do I have a universe in my head with its happenings dancing bout in little circles as the world turned. My mind feels a little lighter, like a load has been taken off it.

At the same time, though, my mind just feels empty, too empty. The vacant space left behind in my being is begging to be filled, an so I've simply been whiling away my time with video games and TV shows and internet videos and whatever book that I haven't read off my shelf. I've felt the urge to pick up the pen and write once more, to make an entire galaxy appear upon the pages and tell a million stories of that galaxy. One too many times, I find myself wandering towards my notebooks and staring longingly at it, whilst I resisted the urge to pick it up, out of the drawer, and start scribbling wildly all over the pages with my terrible scrawls.

I've made do, however, with some short stories and these journal entries. It's almost like an addiction, and I'm going cold turkey. The electric need to do something is biting away at my muscles in my hands and in my mind, and I constantly feel the urge to pick up a pen and write. It was only some time before I decided that I had to make do with a slow cessation and to slowly learn how to keep myself still. Luke once joked that he'd chop my hands off and I'll still try to write because that was how I worked.

The dark humor that Luke carried with him is something that everybody would eventually get used to, yet still be caught off guard by it every once in a while when he goes beyond his usual darkness. Even after so long, I wonder if it's his way of dealing with everything, of coping with his past. I wonder quietly to myself every now and then if the reason why we have an understanding and why we work so well together and why out of all my foster siblings he was the one that I am the closest to is because we're alike in that sense – haunted by our pasts and coping with it with whatever we can find. For him, his humor and his work, for me, my stories and my writing. Between us, we've shared so much, so many outlets for our frustrations and our overwhelming emotions – games, shows, movies, you name it. We're both secretly escapists on the inside. I once speculated that one of the only few things that separated us was the fact that he's older and he was born to someone else.

But I digress once more. I was talking about my dilemma. It's almost too easy to get distracted from a topic that you really wish to avoid. Just think about something else, something just as or more significant. At least, that's the way it is for me. My mind hasn't ever worked right from the day I was born. And from the day I was taken in, any chance of it ever working right vanished into a little puff of smoke that dissipated through the chimney top of the home that I lived in for the better part of my childhood.

* * *

It's set. I've thought of what to do. After extensive deliberation, I've decided to do a little bit of everything at once. The best of every world. I'm going to college – ten full years late, no less. I wasn't that interested ten years ago, and I was caught up with all the Sid business so much that I decided that it wasn't necessary. But in the midst of all that, I think I've lost out on the experience and all the knowledge that I could've acquired. I've missed out on the wild drinking in bars that's integral to youth. I've missed out on the vigor and vitality and hope. I've missed out on all that hazing, all that 'let's meet new friends' spiel, all the examinations, deadlines and assignments that I used to hate so much back in school. And so, college. It's almost like an insane last-ditched effort to be young before I turn thirty. But there's more to why I decided to go. There are exchange opportunities, the possibility of going away and around the world. Besides, there's also the possibility of being able to go to another state and live there for a few years – something that I never had a chance to do.

Luke thinks I'm insane. I probably am. Back then, when I'd graduated, I celebrated in joy because I hated school so much. I never had much of a good record in school, and neither did I have any particularly strong feelings towards school. He's heard me complain about the workload in school millions of times, each time phrased differently and worded differently – which is why he doesn't understand why I've decided to go to college after so long. At the same time, he's worried, worried that I wouldn't fit in because I'm older than everybody else in there. I told him –

"I already wouldn't fit in regardless. I'm the weird kid, the messed up one, remember?"

Which was true. I never quite did, no matter how much I tried. Not that nobody was nice to me – I've had a fair share of friends and dissenters back then. There were people who'd avoid me mainly because they disliked me, and there were people who'd laugh at my jokes and the stupid things I'd say. Yet – no matter how much I stuck around, and no matter how I acted, I always felt an odd detachment from everybody else.

"Which is why I'm worried." Luke explained. "Weird kid that's older than everybody else. You're going to end up suffering there."

"Oh, come on. You said it yourself before – you still feel great even after all this time. It wouldn't be a problem at all, and even if it's going to be, I'll find a way. I always do. Besides, it's a great time to go. It's just a few years, and I need to have something to tack to my name besides the fact that I'm secretly Sid Rouile."

Luke shook his head absentmindedly. "Can't stop you. I guess it'll be a good time for you to meet other people too. And…do people stuff."

"And by people stuff you mean…" I narrowed my eyes at him expectantly.

"People stuff." He simply said. "You know what I mean."

I knew exactly what he meant. Except I wasn't ready for it, not at all. I just wanted to re-live everything that I've missed out on – except that. And so I changed the subject.

"Either way, I'm going. It's a great time to go. I'll be back before you know it, anyway."

Luke merely shook his head absentmindedly again. I knew he was protesting silently inside, and I knew he was protesting not because he doesn't like the idea but because he doesn't like that I'll be all alone out of his sight there. My eldest foster brother and best friend for nearly my whole life now – I'm not in the least bit surprised if he can't let go that easily and can't stop worrying about me for a moment in his life. I'll always be his precious little brother, no matter how old we grow or how many strands of gray and white we have on our heads. No matter how many people we eventually come to take care of, we're always the one of the first – if not the first – to care for each other. We've depended on each other for so long, it's hard to see how we can simply come apart from each other.

He looked so utterly upset when he helped me to pack up the apartment – he had that expression on his face, the same expression I saw that night when he came home after breaking up with his long-time love. He had such a broken look on his face – the sort that looked perfectly fine at first glance and especially to the unacquainted, but the sort that you knew he was about to cry at any time if you knew him better. The sort that carried glassy eyes in its sockets, breaking and revealing a shattering heart underneath. And while you'd expect him to cry, and he'd look like he would, his eyes would stay dry, no tears streaking down his cheeks and no whiteness eating away at his face. You'd know that this was a man breaking inside whilst he remained blank and unrevealing on the surface.

I wish I could've given him a hug right then. It was always our fiercest show of love – a tight bear hug that lasted for so long we'd sometimes forget what we had to do next. I was such a hugger and he always called me the giant cuddly teddy bear. He loved my hugs, nonetheless.

Except I couldn't spare him the bit of affection and the bit of comfort. I had things to do, letters to write and send. I had records to dig up and things to writer. Most of all, it'd hurt too much and make our separation all too real if I hugged him right now. I resolved to keep it for the very final parting, if it ever happens and when it happens, before I wouldn't be able to see him for months at end, before I was constricted and limited to only phone calls and instant messages, without a face to put to the voice and to all of the words.

It's going to be such a bittersweet parting. Wherever I'm going to go, wherever I end up, whatever I'm going to do, I can't guarantee that I'll ever be as happy as I was in this rough, rugged place. It's not the prettiest place in the planet to be, or the most charming community to be around, but a place is only ever as good as the people you surround yourself with. Here, I have people whom I love and love me. I have a family that accepts me constantly for the oddball that I am and I have an entire life back here, both as Jonathan and as Sid Rouile. I have a home that is truly my own, where I eat, sleep, breathe and play. And I'm trading all this in a stupid attempt to re-live something so youthful that I've missed out on and might not truly enjoy, a façade of beauty and a life I generally wouldn't agree with. Leaving this place wouldn't be without pain. Like Luke said, I must be fucking insane. I guess that's just how I operate – wild, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. Even James had learnt to not talk me out of my questionable choices, not unless it was seriously questionable. God knows how many times he's saved me from unnecessary trouble, bless that man.

Now, all that there is left to do is to write. Letters to compose to sell myself without selling myself out, records to polish and send and reference from to prove that I am someone worthy of admiration as well as a place in college. Compositions to prove my worth on. And then maybe I can rest, and wait in hopes of being taken in and taken away from this familiar place.

* * *

Luke stormed into my place today with a frown upon his brow. For the first time, his entrance was louder than ever – maybe because the house was now much emptier and bare than it ever had been before with my books and games removed off the shelves and the decorations plucked off the cabinets and the walls.

"Your Mom's hopping mad that you're leaving." He almost yelled. "You didn't even tell her at all?"

I returned his accusatory glare with a blank, almost arrogant expression. "I _did_ tell Mom that I'm leaving. I told everyone that deserved to know, and that included everybody in the family, the last I checked."

An ever-familiar scowl appeared on his face, the same one that appeared every single time I said something like this. "I mean your _biological_ mother, dude. Betsy Banner."

" _Bitch_ Banner." I corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, Bitch Banner and her sisters Blabbermouth Banner and Barren Banner." He scowled once more. "Thank god Mom hasn't caught onto your nickname for her. She'd be hopping mad."

"Whatever. Bitch Banner ain't my mom, anyway. Mom is." I seethed through clenched teeth. "I don't care if I came from her. She's not my mom, period."

"God damn it, Jonathan. You're still mad at something that's happened nearly twenty years ago –"

"She _killed_ my dad! My own father _died_ because of her!" I shouted, the venom seeping into my voice, beyond my control. I was shaking all over – not that I'd realized it at that time. In retrospect, I regret shouting at Luke. He didn't deserve the flak for what Betsy Bitch Banner did. He didn't deserve the hate that I had for her after all that had happened to me and to my biological father.

"She didn't _kill_ him, and you know it. She was just a bitch that Ashton Smith stuck with until he got chopped up. Not that she's not at fault, but she never killed anyone."

"That's just about as good as killing him. She caused him to die, and that's all that matters." I bit angrily. "If – if only he'd left her…"

"Then you'd either never have been born, or you'd be fatherless." Luke pointed out.

"If only he took me with him and ran away."

"Then we wouldn't be talking right now. Fuck, she didn't kill anyone, dude. Sure, Uncle Smith got chopped up by some guy thanks to her, but did she order that guy to do it? D'you really think she called up the Masked Killer and said, 'Hey, so I think my husband's a fuck, could you come kill him for me please?'? Dude's known for being a psycho killer. He kills anyone and everyone as long as they're in his way, there's no selection involved. You know that. You've seen the stories. You even have an entire file on that guy."

I knew that. I knew that Bitch Banner didn't kill anyone. I knew that the infamous Masked Killer simply killed because he could, and my biological father might have been simply a random victim of his. But she might as well have killed him. She might as well have killed me, too, when she took what my life could have been away from me. There would be nights where I would lie all alone in bed, listening to Luke's snores from the bunk below me, imagining what my life would have been like if my father never died, and instead took me along with him as he left Bitch Banner for a carefree, happy life. There would be no more insanity, no more yelling and fighting. There would be no blood and no death. I would have been a perfectly happy child, and not a child tossed under the care of my childless elder aunt who had to make do with a family of foster children. It wasn't that Lisa Banner wasn't nice, or that her husband wasn't a good person, and neither was it that my foster siblings had been terrible people. It was just that I lost a man that I loved dearly and called father, and I had to throw away my ties with the last of my direct family out of sheer hate for her biggest crime. She sent my father to his gruesome death, and I could not forgive her, much less love her again for that. I was cared for and given affection in my new home, but I felt alone nonetheless. I didn't have a blood mother or father anymore. I wasn't loved and cared for by the people who brought me into this world.

I must've done that pouting thing again then, because Luke's gravelly voice cut into my thoughts -  
"You know I'm right. You're just holding a grudge – not without a good reason, but a stupid grudge nonetheless."

"She's a bitch." I grumbled.

"She certainly is." He agreed, nodding. "But that bitch ain't getting why you didn't tell her you were leaving. I'd get it if you don't want to tell her where you're going, but I'm confused as to why you didn't tell her you're just screwing off somewhere else and not dropping dead."

"Just tell her that I'm going to drop dead, then."

"Dude, you're not the only person that's lost him. _She_ 's lost him too. You think she was laughing her way through the funeral? Or that she was choking on laughter the whole time when she drank herself silly and took all those painkillers like they were vitamins?" Luke challenged. "Have some empathy, dude. She's a bitch, but she's your mother. She deserves to know at least a little bit of what you're doing."

The truth was, I simply didn't think she deserved to know. Of all the countless attempts that I made to try to reconnect to her and forgive my biological mother, it never seemed to work. She was still hooked and high when I made my initial attempts. Experiencing withdrawals in my later attempts. I only stopped trying when I figured that even when she was sober and clear-headed and being a functioning adult, I couldn't reach her, try as I might. All of these phases, I came back spitting angrily with disappointment and fury and solidifying her place in a dark alleyway in my heart as 'Bitch Banner'. I'm not ready to give her another chance after all that she's put me through.

But I couldn't say that to Luke. Luke is a family man. He can't quite get my bitterness against Bitch Banner, despite coming from similar circumstances. He couldn't see how I could still hate her or how I could still feel this way towards her. To him, because she's my birth mother, no matter what she's done or how terrible a person she is, she brought me into this world, and she deserves the tiniest bit of care that I can afford to give her. And so he hopes, again and again, that somehow, her maternal connection to me would transcend the grievances I had suffer in the past. He hopes that one day I'd forgive her and at the very least share the superficial bits of my life with her. No doubt he sees her flaws as much as I do, but he's the man that forgives.

I've proven time and again that I can't be that big of a man like he is – maybe because that's how I am. As much as I love the people I'm surrounded by right now, as much as I love them to death and want to share with them every single bit of what I can share with them, I can't ever extend these feelings to Bitch Banner, because I will always childishly hold on to the fact that she killed my father. As much as I'm thankful for the way I turned out, no matter how odd I did turn out, I can't ever extend these feelings of gratefulness to her.

And so I've learnt to feign it, to pretend like I can do what Luke can. Make him happy to see that I've grown and that I've learnt to become a better man. Make him see that I have reason more than my hatred for Bitch Banner to exclude her from my life; I'll rationalize my irrationality like a fool.

And so I lied to him about my reasons. I hated lying to Luke, he always could tell. But the longer time passed, as we grew older, he stopped calling me out on my lies. I sometimes wonder if he'd stopped being able to tell if I was lying or if he simply understood why I'd lied. I sometimes wonder why I still bothered lying to him when there's always that chance that he knew. I guess it's one of those things that you do to try and keep everybody happy.

"Look, I thought it'd somehow be better if she didn't know. It wouldn't be nice to go to her after all this time just to tell her that I'm leaving."

Luke shrugged. "Whatever. She knows now. She caught wind of it from Cynthia – you know how she can never keep her trap shut."

"And who told Blabbermouth Banner?" I asked.

I might have sounded like I was accusing him, then, because he replied, almost defensively, "I didn't! I'm not a fucking blabbermouth like she is and you know that too. Nobody knows how that leaked – or rather, maybe someone knows, but isn't willing to admit it. But for Christ's sake, I didn't do it. I know better than to blab about your shit to others – especially Cynthia."

"I didn't say that you did. But someone's got to have said something about that to Blabbermouth Banner. And I think the people I've said it to know me well enough to not say a thing to her."

A silence fell upon us, and we sat there, in the near-emptiness of my living room, pondering. I had a nasty, nagging feeling deep in my heart who it was, yet, it was hard to think that my foster mother, my biological aunt, the saint of a being who took me in on top of her existing foster children after what her sister did – could possibly seek to reconnect with her sisters. Lisa Banner had done all she could to make her children – and by extension, me – happy. And when I insisted on never seeing Bitch Banner again, she gladly cut both her and Cynthia Banner out of her life and my life. They had no feud, not that I knew of, but she kept her away from herself, away from us, away from me, all because I wanted nothing more to do with Bitch Banner. As far as I knew, Lisa Banner was no longer just an aunt. She was my mother, and my mother and her husband were saints.

"Do you…" Luke began, hesitating, saying it almost as though he didn't believe the words himself. "Do you think… that… it might've been Mom? I mean," he took a deep breath, "She might've not spoken to them in forever, but… don't you think she might've – just out of courtesy – slipped it to Cynthia hoping that it gets to your mom since she probably thinks that Betsy deserves to know -?"

"No way." I cut in firmly. "No fucking way. Mom's not one to do that. Not unless I ask her to. It's been that way all this time. She'll never disrespect my wishes like that."

Luke fell silent, his dark eyes glinting. A part of us wanted to believe what I had said, but somehow, somewhere, there was that nagging feeling, a deadly, nasty feeling gnawing away at us, yelling at us that we were wrong. But that was that. The question of how Blabbermouth Banner came to know of my imminent departure was still shrouded in mystery, and Luke left my place again. I swore to myself I'd have to be even more careful about who I let my secrets out to. God forbid Bitch Banner or Blabbermouth Banner find out about the Sid Rouile business. I'd hate to think what sort of scheme they'd come up with to suck the soul out of me.

* * *

This morning was a bout of insanity for me. I awoke just as the sun was beginning to rise, my head whirling from the nightmare that had just passed. Ever since I had the talk with Luke, the events of that one, fateful night kept appearing in my head in the form of a nightmare – screaming, shouting, storming…

But this isn't about the events that led up to how my first family crumbled. When I got past the headache and the heartache and finally pulled myself out of bed to wash up, I skipped outside to retrieve the mail in my mailbox. The sun seemed brighter than usual for May, and the clouds only very sparsely littered the blue sky above me. It seemed like today was one of those days where nothing could quite go wrong at all. In that moment, I suppose, the idea of leaving became a little sad. I would miss this place to the very end.

But whatever tinge of sadness passed, it was washed away by the uncertain excitement that flooded me the moment I fished out the wad of letters from my mailbox. Right on top of the stack was a letter posted from California. California it was – I was going to college in sunny California!

To be frank, I'm surprised they even liked me, especially since I'm starting nearly ten years late, and even more so when I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer (I might possibly be one of the dullest, but that's subjective and I'll leave it at that). And so – imagine my surprise when I read the words that spelled out in formal terms that I had been accepted into the college!

I've went on to make some of the necessary preparations and call up some of my closest friends and family to pass on the news. Some of them were excited, some not quite so. Some tried their best to feign excitement, with bits and pieces of their heartache slipping through the cracks in their voice as they spoke. The rest of the day was jam-packed with paperwork regarding my lease as well as some more paperwork regarding my cross-country move. It's odd how while you busy yourself with all these things, whatever that should bother you and had once bothered you seemed so insignificant and so little, occupying only a very small corner in your list of priorities.

The temperature took a slight dip in the afternoon compared to in the morning. It seems like an odd thing to talk about and to notice, but I guess when you're about to leave a place that you're so familiar with, even the smallest of details, the smallest of things like this matter. I'm going to miss this when I reach California. I'm dreading to say this, but in the midst of all this excitement, I think life here started becoming a lot more interesting. I've begun to do small things like walk down the street even slower than before, observing people from all walks of life carry on with their lives. I've begun to visit little coffee shops and cafés that I've never visited before to have coffee with our resident coffee addict (Luke!) whilst I stare out of the window and into the street to watch people walk by, some carrying heavy bags and others with various shopping bags in their hands. I even began taking an interest in street performers that I've walked past so many times before, their music blossoming from one of a transitory, transient phrase that would fade out into nothing as I distanced myself, into full-fledged masterpieces. I think I've made friends with the man who plays the keyboard in the park. It began from a few tips that I threw into his tin, and eventually sprouted into a conversation over tea break about his musical training and how he would play seasonally for the State Orchestra. Suddenly, everyone seemed much more interesting than before and much more exciting than before, such that the thought of leaving became so painful and so sad, tinged with varying shades of melancholy.

The same could be said for this afternoon. I went about my life in the outside world, first having coffee with Luke at yet another coffee place and then going about my life and business. I'd have lunch at a bistro near the park, before dropping by to show my moral and financial support to the pianist Andrew. He was playing his final song before heading off for his little tea break when I'd arrived, and he'd graced my ears with what he said was a well-known piece of Chopin's. I knew little music beyond the stuff that Luke and I listened to, so I simply smiled at him as he played the hauntingly beautiful melody, one that reminded me of night skies as dark and mysterious as the eyes of a lover when he'd first look at you in his declaration of love to you. The way his eyes would twinkle light bright little stars when you'd return his affection. On a little bench in that quiet park, surrounded by Andrew's music, I think I could've wept.

I must've been sullen and quiet and had that expression that Luke hated so much on my face, for when the music stopped and Andrew got up from his place by his keyboard to sit beside me on the bench, he looked immensely concerned.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"I guess." I replied vaguely, and abruptly changed the subject. "I'm leaving North Carolina soon. For school."

"That doesn't sound so bad," he said, shrugging as he stretched out and leaned back into the wooden bench, scratching the wild gray mop on his hair carelessly. "Such is the life of the young. With all the energy and time on your hands, it's best you spend it where it counts. Be it college or work or love."

"I know that. It's just... Difficult to go. I've tried so hard to not think about it, but the more time passes, the more stuff I tear myself away from here and the less things I have to do… I end up thinking about it at the end of the day. And I don't even know what I'd do the first thing when I get there. Maybe I'd go to the beach, maybe I'll be a proper adult and settle into a new place. Maybe I'd just do what I do best. I don't know. It just feels… odd to leave my family behind, my best friends behind. And while all that goes on… I have to be busy. I have to prepare for my life there, make all the calls and things like that."

Andrew gently patted me on my shoulder. "So let yourself feel odd. If you never feel odd, do you think you would ever be able to deal with feeling odd? Just look at me, young man. Joining the State Orchestra wasn't an easy task. I was nervous from the start to the end, but I pressed on and went for it. And in there I found something I loved. I loved the music, the harmony of it all, and the smiles on people's faces when they stood up and clapped in the theatre. I loved it all. I wouldn't have found the two biggest loves of my life without that one moment that I felt like I was making the wrong choice. And the same to you, too. Maybe you'll find something, maybe someone there for you that's just right."

Hearing the encouragement from Andrew lightened my mood a little. Sure, it wasn't as if he shared my life and related as if he knew me, but it felt nice to voice my hesitation and my uncertainties to somebody who related back and gave advice. So I simply smiled wryly and thanked him, to which he replied –

"It'll all work out in the end. Just like how street performing while I'm not working worked out for me. Come see one of our shows when you're back some time, will you?"

And he left for his break, leaving me to go on with my day.

After spending an hour or two surfing the net for a suitable place to live in in California, I finally settled on what looked like paradise compressed into an album of photographs. A stunning view of the city and the beach, a balcony with a pool and an overall stunning outline and appeal. Enough space for two people, but the landlady is intent on only one tenant. I barely looked at the listed price when I shot her a call.

"Yes, about the apartment. I'm interested in it."

"That sounds nice, but I only _just_ had a young man call in about it. He's interested in it, too. And although I'd suggest that you two share, I'm not going to deal with _two_ people after the last pair messed with my nerves like that."

"But I'm flying there in a little more than a week," I complained. "I'll be there first to see and sign the agreement. _And_ I'll take any price you offer."

She chuckled. "It's California, sweet pea, are you sure you want to do that? The rent here isn't infamous for no reason, you know. Of course, it's not as bad as New York, but aren't you afraid I'll bite your head off?"

"You wouldn't be telling me if you were." I answered quietly.

A soft laugh sounded from the other end of the line. "Good point. But I'll go easy on you only after I see you. You do sound like a breeze to deal with compared to the last two. I'll look forward to meeting you, then, when you land."

I suddenly felt really terrible. Whoever the other guy was, he was looking for a place to stay in California. And if it was just a college kid looking for a cheap opportunity, I had just ripped his chance at a good place out of his hands.

"Wait." My mouth moved almost automatically. "About that… other guy. Is it really alright if I just take this from him?"

"Don't be silly. I said you sounded like a good deal, not that the place is yours. Like I said, I might decide to go easy on you once I've seen you. He's still on the hook, until you formally take the place. Of which you have a relatively high chance of, actually. Like I said, after the last pair, you're almost like a refreshing breeze."

"Could you… contact him for me?" I blurted out. "Just tell him that if he's got nowhere to go, I'm up for taking him in as a roommate. If he wants, that is. And I'll pay for the whole thing and he'd pay me to make up for it, something like that."

She chuckled once more, this time her laughter more pronounced, as if in true amusement. "You really are interesting, aren't you? You were so eager to take the place but now you're offering to share. I really hope that even if _I_ don't bite your head off, California won't, either."

She paused for a thoughtful moment. "I'll tell him that. But be warned – if you _are_ going to take it and if you _do_ take him in as a roommate, I expect only to deal with you, and I expect more than satisfactory behavior from the two of you. If there's anything wrong, you're the person I'm coming after. Whatever he says will not count, because legally, the place will be in your name. That is to say, of course, I decide to let you have the place. Is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am." I smiled coyly to myself. As much as she tried to assert that she might not let me on the apartment, I had a strong feeling I had nailed the call. All I needed to do was to more thoroughly inspect the place and get the contract dealt with when I landed in California. And, if I had made the right choice, I might have saved a person from too much of a loss – and I might end up with a roommate. I wouldn't have any regrets… would I?

I'd like to say that I don't have any regrets in leaving, but I do. I have lots of them, too many to count, and the one at the very top of the list is leaving itself.

* * *

And finally, my home state remains behind me. In a flurry, a week and a half had passed, and since there was little else more to do and there was little else more that tied me down and held me back, I left North Carolina for sunny California.

Before I left, I had a short stay at the Patterson family home. Mom and Dad were both there that morning when I arrived with Luke in his magnificent car, sitting on the patio and drinking their morning coffee. Dad was reading the morning paper – as usual – with his glasses pushed up against his nose, and Mom was rearranging the breakfast items on the table, looking around with a relaxed, serene expression on her face as she observed the bits and pieces of nature around her. Upon approaching them, they glanced up and shot up from their places as fast as their bodies could go, and reached out for me, taking me in a warm embrace when I reached them.

All the things in my apartment had been shifted out, with the bigger of the bulk sent away to a storage compartment and to be picked up by the movers once I gave the heads-up, and the lesser things – my laptop, my books, my consoles, everything small that was significant and made me feel at home – was packed into my trunk and unloaded into what used to be my old room, where everything looked just about the same, and felt just about the same. Nothing seemed to have changed, not the people who I have acknowledged as my parents, not the house that I spent the better part of my childhood in. It was all so familiar, just like the rest of the state that I had lived in for the past nearly thirty years. Yet I was going to leave them all behind for something so unfamiliar, where there would be nobody from this familiar life that I could bring there to make me feel more at home.

At the very start of the week, it already became evident that my departure hung over the family like a cloud of gloom. Luke no longer seemed as energetic as he always was, acting as though he had lost all of that vigor and vitality that never seemed to drain even as he exited his youth. I could've sworn I heard Dad sighing to himself whenever he thought I was out of earshot, and shaking his head to himself whenever he thought I couldn't see. Mom kept up with her candor, readily breaking out into a smile whenever I appeared in front of her, but the moment I vanished out of her sight, it almost always felt like I had just left a funeral. Her eyes were a deep, sad blue, the eyes of a person that had just lost something great. I caught glimpses of her with a glassy glint and tinges of red in the whites of her eyes, and I wondered quietly how much she was holding back. She never cried when I left the family home the first time, and she never did cry when I left North Carolina for the first time. All I ever saw were soft glimmers that vanished the moment I saw them.

Maybe it was me, too, but the meals that we had were sadder and quieter than what I had remembered from my past. The food also tasted a little off, and I wondered to myself too, without saying a thing, if the tears that Mom never cried had landed themselves in there. But I kept my composure. I didn't cry, not even when the waves of nostalgia kept washing up against the banks of my mind and putting me at the very edge of my emotional capacity.

The week went by, dull as dishwater, just like that.

Two things did stand out throughout the week. The first would be when I received a call from a number that I barely even knew at all, the day after I returned to the Patterson family home for my little stay there. I was half-asleep when the call arrived, my brain still caught up in the blurred moving pictures in my head when my phone buzzed beside me. Like any tired human would, I grumbled for a good moment before I used whatever little energy I could gather to pick up the call.

"Hello?" A voice called out from the other end of the line, warm, deep and sweet, and I was almost instantly thrown awake by the suave male voice.

"H- Hello…?" I answered.

"Uh, Jonathan, right?"

I acknowledged.

"I asked Mrs. Sandler for your number. She told me you might take the place… and that you're willing to share if you do."

I perked up a little bit. "Yeah, I said that. I mean – it's a great place, and you were there first. I didn't want to be selfish and take it away from you just because it was convenient for me and I liked it."

"Look… it's a great place, like you said. I don't think I can find another place there that's as good as that. The idea of sharing is great, but there's no way in hell I'm going to let you pay for the place alone and just live off you like that."

"If it makes you feel better, you can pay me. But I'd rather you not – it's not like I can't aff- "

"Dude – I _have_ to. I can't live off you. I'm glad enough you're willing to share. It's not every day I meet someone that nice, and you're probably the first."

"I'm not that nice." I giggled. "I might be a serial killer for all you know. Or I might be a peeping tom that takes photos of guys in their sleep."

He laughed a soft, breathy laugh. "Maybe I'm a thief that's going to steal all your things. Why are you trusting me straight off the bat when you haven't even met me yet?"

"I could say the same for you."

He chuckled. "Because you're nice. Not creepy nice, but nice enough. I don't know how, but I sort of can tell from your voice."

I stilled, and stared up at the ceiling as his words soaked in slowly. He was the first to break the silence between us.

"Uh – anyway, if you do get it, which Mrs. Sandler hinted that you really might – then I guess… we're roommates. Thanks for taking me in, though. It's not easy to find a place there."

"N… No problem. It's kind of the reason why I let you…"

"Thanks, dude." He reaffirmed. "You're the best. I hope we do become roommates. And I hope I'll get to see you soon. I'll be landing in California in a little bit more than two weeks. I guess I'll hear from her when it's all settled, then."

With a click, the line went silent. Just like that, I had unknowingly met my first friend in California, my potential roommate, and I had no idea what his name was. All I knew was that I think I would grow to like him very, very much.

The second thing that stood out was a much smaller event, a small thing that I decided to get back into the habit of doing at the very end of the week, on the morning just before I left the Patterson home once more, California bound. It was but a small ritual I had taken to doing in the years before I first left the family house, a little thing that was later referred to by the family as my 'written secrets'. I'd take small pieces of papers and post-its and I'd write my thoughts, however random they were, down on them and stick it in places around the house. Nobody really understood these messages, and called it my written secrets because it was my secret code. But they never pried or tried to find out what they were all about. Maybe they'd already figured out, I don't know.

But that morning, just before I left, with my things all packed up once more and my room returned to its original orderly state, I took a post-it and stuck it to my door. It wasn't much of a random thought that I had as much as it was my farewell for them, only for as long as I'd be away. I'd written –

"I'll always be dreaming about you all."

* * *

 _Hello everyone! For the first time in what seems like forever, I'm starting on a new multi-chapter work. I'm hesitating to call this chapter the first chapter since it mainly sets the scene and in fact has very little of the H2OVanoss that we all want, so I'm just going to call this the prelude chapter. This story is going to be written entirely from Jonathan's perspective in the form of (undated) diary entries, and I'm sorry if it seems like it's a really odd format. It's something I really wanted to try. As always, the beginning is going to be really slow, so bear with me for a little bit!_

 _Another thing is the regularity of my updates. At this moment, I can't do what I did with Rule of the Heart and update every week or two because life calls. I will try to write whenever I can, and I do hope to churn out the first actual chapter for this story soon!_

 _-delmin_


	2. The First Month

It was hot the moment I landed. The weather of California is usually rather close to the weather of North Carolina, with the exception of the insane bipolarity that characterized North Carolina's weather. The unfortunate part was that California was experiencing some of the most insane heat waves when I first landed in the Golden State. That absolutely revolting feeling of droplets of sweat and perspiration creeping down the back of my neck and every other corner of my body pervaded all of my senses. I had hated that feeling whenever I felt it in the hotter days back in North Carolina – and it was already evident those feelings hadn't changed one bit. I also had a nasty feeling then that it was going to be a very long time before I would ever get used to the temperatures here.

Everything here is so distinct and so different from North Carolina. Perhaps it was because I was in a darned crowded and overpopulated city, but I felt like I could barely ever find a spot where I could catch a breath and have a quiet moment to myself. The air was different, the colors were different. The people were different, the sounds were different. Being in a completely unfamiliar place was surreal.

The journey to the hotel was longer than it could've been. Everywhere on the road were cars, cars and more cars, and it didn't help that I arrived (unfortunately, according to my cab driver) rather close to the peak hours. The one thing that helped the incredibly long ride, though, was the chatty driver.

"So, first time in Los Angeles, eh?" He asked. "Most people who've been here before already know how amazing the traffic can get here."

"Yeah," I replied amicably. "I haven't had much of a chance to visit before."

"Ah, but you're young. You can still do so much travelling. Believe me, after some time here, you'll be dying to go everywhere else." He laughed, his shoulders shaking slightly.

"Is life not good here?"

"Ah, that depends. But from me to you, first thing you want to learn about California is that you shouldn't be fooled by whatever everyone says about the place. Everybody comes here thinking they'll become big or have their dreams come true, but they don't expect the competition or the hard life before it. Believe me, young man, you youngsters need to understand disappointment before you can live here properly and happily. People who come here and end up being disappointed don't have anything good to say. People who know what's in store for them get on with their lives just fine."

"Actually, I'm just here for school." I pointed out as politely as I could.

"Really?" His eyes darted momentarily towards the mirror, as if he could make sure of my words by looking at my features. "I thought you came for a big job. Forgive me – you look young. The good sort of young, like an actor or a model. I've seen many a face like yours pass through this cab, only difference is that they all look like they might burst from the excitement. And usually that's a sign that they'll end up taking the cab back to the airport crying."

He paused for a moment, making a sharp turn as the traffic moved just enough for him. "Even so, don't expect too much. This place is big and it holds a lot of dreams, but it's not magical. It's just about as normal as – where did you say you came from -?"

"North - North Carolina."

"– As normal as North Carolina." He finished.

The rest of the drive was pretty regular, with only small talk only every now and then. At some point, we managed to cut into a large, fairly-empty road, and we sped along our way towards my hotel. Once we'd arrived and I'd alighted, he helped my suitcase out of his trunk.

"Here you go," he grunted, lifting the heavy suitcase out of the back of his car. "Now take care and be a tough young man, would you? Don't let Los Angeles chew you out."

"You sound like a landlady I spoke to on the phone some time back." I laughed, taking my luggage from him.

Unexpectedly, he winked. "Maybe we're related. I'll see you around."

And with those words, the doors shut and the cab drove off quickly, leaving me staring dumbfounded at the cloud of dust that he had left in his wake.

After all the checking in was done and I managed to haul my things up to a hotel room, the first thing I did was to call up the landlady and arrange a meeting with her to see the place. After agreeing on a day and time – that is to say, the day after – she dropped her professional tone, cool tone and adopted a more motherly one –

"So," She began, curiosity gently coloring her words. "You spoke to him. The other… _potential_ tenant."

To be honest, it annoyed me that I still didn't know his name. It annoyed me more that Mrs. Sandler was avoiding using his name completely, as if she were in cahoots with him to never let me find out. It probably took all my willpower to not snap at her, let alone throw my phone down on the ground and smash it into pieces.

"Yeah," I admitted, hoping that whatever annoyance I felt didn't show through. "He called a few days before I left."

"He thinks he'll like you a lot." She followed smoothly. "He thinks you're very, very nice. Much like the way I think of you, except I think you're _too_ nice and you'll get bitten off in your first week here."

"Geez. Thanks, I guess. But speak for yourself. You're pretty nice, too." I returned. "You're giving me advice about life here when you could've simply ripped me off straight off the bat."

She chuckled softly. "True, true, you said that before. But I can't bring myself to be a nasty landlady. Especially not when you're completely new to the place. Believe it or not, I was once like you, too. Came here all alone, didn't know an inch of California. Except I didn't have the luck of meeting too many nice people. Big city, big people…the only way you get about is to have big guts."

A soft, nostalgic sigh came from her end of the line, before she abruptly began again, almost hurriedly –

"Well – I have to go, now, I have things to attend to. I'll see you tomorrow!"

The line went dead, and that was the end of it.

And I still didn't know his name.

I sat down on the large king-sized bed, peeling the soft fluffy covers back as I did. For the first time since I entered the hotel room, I took in the wonder of the suite in its full glory. It was all so luxurious for the price that it came with, with the décor of the room outdoing just about everything that I could've imagined. The walls were clean, sleek and white, and the room was carpeted in a shade of cream that complimented the soft, rosy color of the chairs and the comforter. Everything looked so delicate and so comfortable, I felt almost pampered just sitting on the bed and admiring it.

 _It isn't too bad_ , I told myself. I had a clean and comfortable room to stay in for a bit until I got my living arrangements sorted. I had a good view of the city and the skyline. I had everything I needed for now packed in the suitcase. I could probably spend the rest of the day taking a walk, or I could call for room service (which I silently hoped wasn't costly) whilst I lounged on the bed and took a good rest after my cross-country move.

The argument was won in favor of being a lazy bum the moment I lay my body down fully on my bed and the heavy fatigue settled over me. I felt like I was lying on the most comfortable bed in the world, and all I wanted to do was to close my eyes and sleep away the rest of my days. After lying still for some time, I knew I had to get up, and reluctantly, I did.

I opened up my luggage then, in a lazy attempt to unpack, only to find a familiar object covered in brown fur in a corner of my luggage – my teddy bear. Or rather, the teddy bear that Luke had given to me when I first came to the Patterson household as a way to make me feel better. He had stuffed it in without my knowledge. I guess a part of him couldn't live without knowing that I had something to comfort me.

Call me childish, but the teddy bear always gave me an incredible amount of comfort. When I first arrived at the Patterson household, I felt so out of place, not to mention distraught at the way things had turned out in my life. There came Luke, bounding towards me along with his immense energy, throwing his teddy in my face and sharing a bit of himself with me. He shared a possession he had treasured just to make me feel better, and I kept it with me for the rest of my life. Now, at the first moment of having it in my arms, it felt so natural to just hold it tight to my chest and gently take a whiff of the scent of home that emanated from its fur. I missed North Carolina already.

Room service arrived soon after, and the waiter that attended to me was so effortlessly charming I think he knocked the breath out of my lungs the moment he entered my room. The people of Los Angeles seemed to be so effortlessly beautiful - not that I didn't think I could keep up. The problem was in the 'beautiful' – I really, really wasn't ready to be attracted to somebody again so quickly. Yet, I couldn't help but take note of all these small little charming things – for instance, the way the corners of the waiter's lips curled when he smiled, and the way his teeth seemed to gleam under the soft light. The way his lips were a gentle gradient of pink to red, and the way his eyes twinkled as he wished me a good meal. The way he walked – swiftly and gracefully – out of my room…

I had to shake myself awake from all that damned intense charm. It was as though he'd put a spell on me, and I hated myself for that. I made myself promise I wouldn't act the same way around my potential roommate if he ever _did_ turn out that beautiful...

* * *

And as if the entire move to L.A. wasn't enough of a dream already, I walked out from the building managed by Mrs. Sandler with a pair of keys in my pocket. I managed to secure the exquisite apartment, and I could move in anytime I wanted now.

Mrs. Sandler was just like every other person in Los Angeles – effortlessly beautiful and charming, with an odd sort of cynicism exuding from the depths of her eyes. From every angle, she looked as though she could have been a world-class model, and even more so as she carried herself with the grace of one. Yet, with her hair pinned up in a strict bun, she looked much more like a mother than a model. For the first time in my life, I daresay I have met an incredibly attractive older woman.

The door of the apartment was slightly ajar when I arrived. I wasn't expecting much from the empty apartment, and to be quite frank I was expecting it to look rather different from how it had looked in picture. A gentle push revealed the room in its bare glory: although it was emptied of its furniture, it carried every bit of the grace that I had caught when I saw it in photograph. The kitchen, the bar, the windows and sliding doors were all pristine, and as the sunlight bounced off it, the shine was almost glaring to one's eye. The parquet flooring carried its own duller shine, and the place looked brand new.

Right at the very center of the living area were two simple folding chairs. Mrs. Sandler settled herself gracefully and elegantly upon one of them, casting her in the direct pathway of the light that was filtering through a large window high up on a wall. Under that light, she glowed – and for a moment, I thought an angel had descended upon me.

The moment I entered, I felt as though I was being examined. Her light eyes scanned me from head to toe, and I simply stood there awkwardly, not daring to move as she did her once-over with an intense scowl upon her face. It wasn't a scowl of hostility, but more of a scowl that appeared on her goddess-like features unintentionally as she busied herself with examining me. It was the one thing that reminded me that I was in the presence of one that was not an angel, but simply an exceptionally beautiful human.

After what seemed like a long pause, the light in her eyes shifted, and a warm smile burst on her face as she gestured to the folding chair beside her.

"That's good. Have a seat."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a good boy. Good-looking, a little on the sillier side but good, which is great for me. I don't want another bout of cops at my doorstep." She answered simply, before gesturing once more at the chair, this time with an insistent tone. "Sit."

I complied, and sat on the folding chair next to her.

"You don't smoke either. That's good." She noted, her smile growing wider.

"Uh." I began hesitantly. "So… about the contract…?"

"Oh, that piece of trash. The place is yours for a thousand three hundred a month. I was tempted to push it to two thousand, but I approve of you, so that's something."

"You're – you're kidding."

"I'm not. I mean, sure," she looked around the room, "this place cost a bomb to obtain, and even more to maintain after what it's been through. But honestly, after over twenty years in the business, I know which clients I want to keep long-term and which I don't. And you're the exact type I want to keep for as long as you're in L.A. I'm not sure about the other young man, but you might just be one of the better tenants I'll be having for the first time in years. So no protests – a thousand three hundred, take it or leave it. And you have to accompany me for Sunday dinner."

To be frank, I'm still not quite sure if I imagined all these words from her lips. The afternoon was already surreal enough what with the way the room looked around the both of us. Everything seemed to glow, even Mrs. Sandler herself – and her offer was almost too good to be true. Which is exactly what I told her –

"That's too good to be true."

"Mainly because along with the offer, I have high expectations of you to _not_ ruin this place. Especially the pool and the kitchen – mind you, the kitchen's my baby. It has just about everything you need, so I expect it to be well-cared for and put to good use. And by good use I mean not just for storing spoiled beer and pizzas."

"It's still too good to be true."

A stern look crossed her face momentarily as she sat up straight and leaned inwards towards me. "Look at me, young man. Do I look like I'm the type to run a scam? You're free to have the place and do whatever you want with it except destroy it and make a ruckus enough to disturb the others in the building. Which reminds me – feel free to tell your next-door neighbors to tone it down every once in a while, will you? They don't mean it and they try their best not to, but _boy_ can they get loud."

"Mrs. Sandler –"

"Take it. You won't find a better price out there. Or a better apartment. Or a better building to live in in your time here. So – it's up to you. Will you take this apartment?"

She summoned a wad of papers from seemingly nowhere and waved it in my face, all with the same elegance that she held from the very beginning. Slowly, uncertainly, I took it from her, still unsure if I was in the real world or caught in a fantasy. I wasn't even sure if I signed it properly or correctly in the right places, but when the papers were taken from my hands and the keys thrust in their place, I knew the place was mine. That is, until the roommate arrives.

She gave me a warm, genuine smile as she rose from her seat. "It's all yours. You can move in any time, now. Just be sure to give me a visit with the first payment when you do – I don't want to disrupt your moment right now."

With a wink, she left me in the empty apartment, in the glow of the soft sunlight. The place was mine. It was a long time before I could shake myself out of my state of catatonia and walk about the place, allowing my fingers to run about on each and every surface I could possibly touch. I think I even spent a long, drawn-out moment staring at the pool on the balcony blankly, without a single thought in my mind as I watched the bright, glimmering reflections in the water dance about on its surface. It was an even longer time before I finally left, with the keys jingling in my pocket as I walked out into the sunlight.

"It's crazy, Luke. There was almost like – like – no negotiation at all. She just looked at me and practically decided she was going to let me have it."

Luke harrumphed over the phone. "Y'sure this isn't some big scam? It sounds too good to be true."

"I thought so at first. It's like she didn't even care about the – the formalities or the paperwork. It's so weird… but I have the keys to the place. I – I think it's for real, Luke."

"It still sounds weird. She's too nice for… you know."

I lay back against the cushiony pillows on my hotel bed. "Too nice for?"

"You know. L.A. folk."

"The place has been pretty nice to me so far," I admitted. It was true – as much as I missed North Carolina, I already was beginning to like California. Everything was beautiful, and although it seemed ice-cold on the inside, it appeared, at the very least, warm and sunny on the outside.

"I know. But you know what Em said about the place – it's deceiving. _She_ might be deceiving, for that matter. Next thing you know, you don't have a place to live, and you've been scammed out of your money."

"You're worrying too much."

"You're my baby brother."

"I know," I sighed, and giggled softly. "I'll take care of myself, Luke. I think I can tell when someone's lying to me. Besides… even if it _is_ a scam… at least I've learnt something… right?"

A pause, before Luke said –

"That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard. But it's you, so I guess that's okay."

* * *

I knocked on Mrs. Sandler's door, still not quite sure what to expect, with my new apartment keys in my pocket and the money and the documentation in my hands. It was still hours before my furniture would be delivered, and I thought I'd make time to understand my landlady a little better. Luke was right, after all – she was unusually nice to me, especially only after taking one simple look at me.

The door before me creaked open as the face of a goddess appeared and the smell of something savory cooking on the stove wafted out. There it was again – the glowing beauty of a woman who, despite the years that were showing only very slightly on her face, was somehow immensely charming and youthful from every other angle.

"Ah. Moving in today, I see. I _do_ hope you're not just intending to coldly throw the money and papers in my face and leave."

"I – no – I, uh…" I stumbled over my words stupidly once more. Somehow, in the presence of such a smooth talker, I felt like a complete idiot for not being able to speak.

"Don't worry, I won't eat you up. Just a cup of tea and a nice chat, that's all. If it worries you that much, you can leave the door open. I don't think anyone's visiting at this time, anyway."

Slowly, hesitantly, I walked into her glowing apartment.

"So, Jonathan…" She paused momentarily, and turned to look at me. "Can I call you that?"

"Sure."

"Jonathan. I'm pretty sure you still think I'm out to con you. And honestly, I don't care if you think I am the whole time you're staying here. But really, I'm not. I'm just happy enough to help out a nice young man after the series of crackheads that ended up here."

"But why?" I blurted out. Suddenly, I realized I was still standing awkwardly by her doorway – yet, I wasn't sure if I should move.

She turned back to look at me once more, her eyes burning with an ice-cold emptiness. "Honestly? Because you're too good for this place. If I were even nicer, I'd tell you to go back home to wherever you came from, because this place? A person like you isn't going to survive in this environment. A small-town boy going to a big city – it's a recipe for disaster. The best I can do is to soften your landing and help you get used to this."

She walked up to me and replaced the papers in my hands with a cup of steaming hot tea.

"I was once like you," she sighed as she settled on a chair nearby. "Came to Los Angeles from a smaller place. Hoped for a better life here. Except I didn't meet as many nice people as I'd like to meet. All my dreams smashed up into little pieces, and I was reduced to doing something else. I nearly left this place. But I didn't. I liked this place too much to leave. Masochistic, isn't it?"

"No – I mean – I get what you mean," I answered. "It's… it's so nice around here. Like… everything's so pretty."

She chuckled. "I see we have an agreement, then. But enough about me, Jonathan. What about you? I know you're here for school, but why _California_?"

I didn't really know what to say or how to answer her. Truth was, I was happy enough to be accepted by a college that was willing to take in applicants like me. The fact that I could come to California for it added an immense draw to it – all the tales I had heard about it being the golden state, with Los Angeles being the golden city – it all made the offer so appealing, so enticing. The draw, perhaps was what led me to California. And that was the exact answer I gave her – badly phrased, of course. To my surprise, however, she understood.

"I see," she simply answered. "Well, I can't blame you. It's a place of… opportunities. And you decided to attend college after ten years of not doing so? What's that about?"

"I just wanted to experience what I've missed out, that's all." I replied.

She smirked. "You're a strange person, you know that? People _drop out_ of college, but you insist on going. Then again, I suppose it's far better than to come here in pursuit of something fanciful. Which reminds me – if anybody does dangle an opportunity to be a 'star' in your face because they think you look good, spare me the heartache and walk away from them, please?"

The rest of the afternoon was relatively quiet as I made my way up to the apartment to wait for the deliveries to arrive. Mrs. Sandler still hung on my mind, an enigma of a character that I still could not quite understand. Despite all that, I felt like I could trust her and relate to her. There was an unspoken understanding between us that I couldn't describe, and beneath her clean-cut, perfected older supermodel looks, there was an immensely homely and motherly charm that she carried about her that one would not catch on their first meeting with her. Heck, she kind of reminded me of Mom – if Mom was a supermodel.

The deliveries were – rather unfortunately – late. I was just getting bored out of my mind waiting for the furniture to come and be set up in the apartment when a slight creak of the door brought me to my senses, and I almost immediately jumped up from my spot on the ground where I lay.

"Geez, I didn't know the floor was so comfy," a male voice sounded from the doorway just as a face poked in, head full of dark curls and all. "Mrs. Sandler told us to say hi and make sure you're not bawling your eyes out of loneliness. I'm Marcel, your obnoxious next-door neighbor and my roommate is too busy sniffing my ass to say hi."

"I'm not sniffing your ass, dickhead!" Another voice sounded from the doorway. "I'm tying my shoelaces!"

"It's just next door, Scott, you don't need your shoes for this," the man named Marcel growled out from the corner of his mouth to someone behind him. "Just come in with me and be a nice neighbor."

A second face appeared after Marcel as the pair walked into my new home casually, dressed equally casually in shirts and shorts.

"So," the one named Scott started, "You're not some druggie, are you? Because the last two that were here were a nightmare and Mrs. Sandler threw a fit after she walked in and saw an entire hoard of needles –"

"We'll spare him the details," Marcel cut in smoothly. "Long story short, she said she'd never allow two people in one apartment again, except I think she went back on her word when she heard from you, because she told us that you're waiting for your roommate. And your furniture."

"And then she told us to keep you company until the truck rolls up in the driveway because you looked like the type to bawl your eyes out dry when you're all alone." Scott added playfully. "And usually she's right about these things, so – you're not bawling your eyes out, are you?"

"N-no, I -"

"That's good," he cut in. "Man, it's nice to see this place all cleaned up. Anyway, what's your name?"

"Jonathan," I told them, at that point still quite unsure of how to feel or how to act. I simply half-lay there, arms barely propping me up. I never quite had people walk up freely to me to speak to me, much less have complete strangers walk into my empty new home to keep me company until my furniture arrived.

"Nice to meet you." Marcel took my hand, shaking it firmly. "Man, I hope your roommate is about as nice as you are. You seem really nice to be around. Minus the being awkward thing, but I think we'll get past that soon enough.

"Nah, I think he's the type that's really noisy. I think we freaked him out." Scott giggled. "Ease up, bro. We're all friends here. And Mrs. Sandler's coming up with some snacks so it'll be nice and cozy, alright?"

As he spoke, he settled himself beside me, lying down on the ground and peering at the high ceiling of the apartment. There was a strange comfort that was to be derived from that – it was akin to a sort of camaraderie, a strange sort of a brotherhood. I was reminded of the nights back then when I would wake up screaming into a pillow, only for Luke to clamber down from his bunk and settle himself beside me with the teddy bear, softly coaxing me back to sleep. I missed Luke, I really did – but this little moment was a decent enough of a rendition of it that I took it gladly and stored it in a special place in my heart. I felt cared for already, despite the odd scene and the odd place that I was trapped in.

"Honestly, are you boys intending to clean the floor for him?" Mrs. Sandler's voice rang out sharply from the doorway. "I don't think your bodies would make very good mops."

"Mrs. Sandler!" Marcel called out happily, still comfortably nestling in his spot on the ground. "Are those cookies that I smell?"

"Chocolate chip. But don't finish them, Jonathan's got priority for these."

"Sure thiiiing." Marcel drawled as he got up lazily to rip the plate full of cookies away from her hands.

"Cookie monster," Scott laughed as he lay still by my side. "He finishes all the cookie stock whenever I buy them, too. You want to make sure to hide them from him, you know, he sniffs them out like a police dog."

I had to join Scott in his laughter as Marcel began to protest loudly at Scott's statement incoherently, with crumbs spurting from his lips and a ridiculous look of mock anger on his face. I felt strangely at home, strangely settled in a strange new place. I wasn't alone, not for a single moment after the surprise visit from my new neighbors that afternoon. When my furniture arrived, I had more than enough help from everyone in unpacking and arranging it about the apartment. When we were all done, I had more than enough company to wind down and relax with. I was at home.

* * *

Of all the things to kill me first in this state, I think it'd be the blistering summer heat waves.

Even the air conditioning unit seemed to be protesting in the insane weather that has been plaguing Los Angeles. With a final choked breath, it finally broke down after eons of neglect followed by about a week's worth of abuse.

"I'm sorry about this. I'll call up a repairman and set a time for you," Mrs. Sandler sighed as she finally set down the remote for the air conditioner. "I thought I did all the proper checks before I handed it over to you, but I think I missed this one. I'm really sorry – this one's on me."

"It's alright," I told her. "You've done more than enough for me. You didn't even have to help me with the furniture the other day, but you did, and I can't thank you enough for that."

"Still, it's part of protocol. I'm getting old," she sighed once more, "I can't believe I'm actually forgetting things. If you'd like, you can come over downstairs to cool off."

"Actually, I – uh – I was thinking of taking a swim in the pool." I admitted quietly. "I haven't really gotten to try that yet."

She raised her perfectly arched and trimmed brows at me, and simply nodded in a somewhat surprised fashion.

"I see. I'll head back downstairs, then. Have fun."

She vanished from my apartment swiftly and stylishly, leaving me wondering if she was really some divine being in disguise. Upon being left alone in my apartment once more, it was simply a matter of stripping down and stepping up onto the balcony and dipping myself into the glistening water before the relief came. The cooling sensation of water on my skin on a hot day like this was immensely soothing, and the water was strangely much colder than I expected it to be. It was as though the heat never managed to touch the balcony or the pool at all, and the only effect the sun had on the place was to make it shine.

I dove under, again and again, feeling the water rush past my head and through my hair, feeling my hair drift in the body of water as if I were flying, feeling each and every inch of my skin prickle to the cool of the water. Each time when I resurfaced and felt the warmth of the air around me again, it was like a small disappointment – but as long as I got to go under again, I was happy enough. It was this way that I whiled away quite a bit of time that day, the joy of being in water perfectly endless.

Every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of movement on the beach through the glass of the railings. Tiny silhouettes in the distance seemingly crawling across the golden sand and basking in the heat of the sun. A part of me wondered how they tolerated it all, and another part of me wished I could join them. The beach always had a certain draw, and I wished I could be a part of it – if only the heat didn't consume me first. Still, I had a desire to visit the beach soon.

I wasn't quite sure how long had passed. The skin on my fingers had been pruny for quite some time when the doorbell rang, and a soft knock and a following thump came from the doorway. Alarmed, I made my way half-naked to answer the door, still dripping wet and with my towel unutilized draped loosely around my shoulders. I made a mental note then to clean up the trail of water I had left behind – something that I can't quite remember if I ever did.

In the glory of the sunlight was a man – slightly taller if not about the same height as I am, looking like he might have been the human incarnation of Adonis (I'm exaggerating, but you get the idea.). Behind the darkness of his aviator shades, I barely made out a widening of his eyes, and as we took in the sight of each other for the very first time, an awkward silence crept up on us and refused to budge. It was only when I noticed the heavy luggage bag by his side that I realized that the silence had to be broken.

"Uh – hi," I began, waving awkwardly as if I were the village idiot. "I wasn't expecting…"

"Sorry about that. I should've called, but I just landed and then…" He paused for a second, and I felt as if I was being awkwardly examined again. It was a moment before he caught himself and continued –

"Never mind that. I was about to go stay at a hotel, but I called Mrs. Sandler earlier and she said that the place was all set up and that I should probably just come straight to you. I'm sorry if I gave you a shock."

"It's not that," I hurriedly told him. "It's just – your room's not quite set up yet, and I didn't know when you were going to come and all that – and – and…"

It simply became one of those moments when words would fail me and I would become extra conscious of myself and how I'm acting as well as how my body feels. In that instant, I stopped knowing what to say, and became extra aware that I was only partly dressed and wet all over. It was an immense relief when he simply took over the conversation –

"You know what? It's alright. I can make do with the couch for a couple of days, you know – I'm just glad I have a place to stay that's already somewhat my own. So… can I come in?"

And just like that, I let the man into my life. Despite my stupid staring at his muscular frame, he seemed comfortable enough and settled quickly, unpacking some essential items from the humongous luggage that he lugged along with him. As he lay down on the couch lazily and closed his eyes in apparent exhaustion, I forced myself to finally move my stupid mouth to say –

"I still don't know your name."

His eyelids fluttered for a second and he cast a curious gaze upon me, a small smile playing on his lips. "And I know yours."

"So –" I began stupidly again.

"I'm Evan. Nice to finally meet you, Jonathan."

And he simply closed his eyes once more, a soft snore rising from him as he rested peacefully in an absurdly handsome imitation of a sleeping Buddha.

* * *

The past few days had been a matter of vanishing acts from my apartment from dawn until dusk. It all simply began with a momentary respite from the intense heat waves, when the sun decided to take a break from burning us all to a crisp and hide behind a thick layer of clouds whilst the air in Los Angeles cooled slightly when I had a knock on my door one morning, whilst my roommate (now completely moved into his room, thank you very much) was still fast asleep and attempting to wean off the fatigue gathered in his travels.

"Heeeey," Marcel greeted me at my door with Scott peeking from their door behind him. "How's the new guy?"

"Asleep," I answered. "He's dead tired after so much traveling and moving."

"Aw. Anyway, we're going to the beach for some fun. You wanna come?"

"Uh – sure, I mean," I paused for a second, trying to figure out what exactly I was going to say. "I would love to. I just need to grab some stuff before I go."

"Sure thing, we'll wait for you downstairs." Marcel called, and motioned for Scott to follow.

That became the first morning of a series of mornings where we would head down to the beach. It would also be the first morning that I would spend with a group of people that were so vastly different from me, as well as the people that I hung out with back home. I think I've said it so many times already – the people in Los Angeles seemed to be insanely beautiful, and they all seemed to have the charms of the angels above. It was also the first time – at least, my first time – that I had gotten so giddy and dizzy on a mixture of summer drinks and beach activities that I had to lie still on the sand and stare at the clouds whilst my head swirled with booze, sugar and stories to tell. In fact, I'm pretty sure that concoction has interfered with my recollection of the events of the past few days.

But before it all even happened, I had to leave a small message for Evan – just so he would know where I went, and just so he'd know he was invited. In the midst of hurriedly grabbing all that I needed – wallet, beach shorts, you name it – I tacked on a post-it to my door and scribbled on (badly):

"Beach, please. Come?"

I'm pretty sure it was wrong on every level – be it semantics or syntax – but I was having too much fun with the joke that I simply let it slide. I had only been here for nearly two weeks, and I was already beginning to slide back into my natural behavior as if I were back home. Sure, there was no Luke, there was no Mom and Dad, there was no James and my crazy siblings weren't here. Sure, everybody's crazy beautiful and everything is golden here, but the people I had surrounded myself with had already made me feel much more at home than I could possibly imagine. Marcel and Scott, for instance, weren't simply loud and friendly – they were the _good_ sort of loud and friendly, the ones that pushed every ounce of awkwardness out of you and made you loud and friendly as well. Within days I was almost completely at ease, and even with the awkwardness of living with someone completely new to me didn't faze me. I was, at this point, rather immune to all that.

And so I skipped off happily to the beach with my newfound friends (and neighbors), hoping that my new roommate would see the note and join us in our impending insanity.

The sun shone bright through the clouds, yet the heat was much duller than before. The sand on the beach seemed almost a slight white-gold, and the beach itself was bursting with activity. The line at the bar was long, yet shifted quickly, and crowds gathered by volleyball nets and by the shore. It seemed like almost every single person in the city was attempting to take advantage of the cooler weather of that day – and we were simply a small part of them.

"David!" Marcel called out, waving his arms in the air at someone in the crowd by the nets. A tall lanky man turned back almost immediately, frowning as he searched the crowd for the source of the call.

"Damn it, he's not wearing his glasses today," Marcel muttered under his breath. "Stay here – I'll go get him."

Shoving his way through the crowd, Marcel vanished into the sea of people, out of our sight. I wasn't quite sure what to do for a second there, but almost as quickly as he had vanished, he returned – this time with the same tall man that he had been calling.

"Jonathan, meet David, our resident Irish potato. David, meet Jonathan, the adorable Southern goof."

I extended my hand towards him, which he took with great grace, and we shook hands for a good long moment before realizing how idiotic we looked. I couldn't help it but chortle and burst into laughter, and he soon followed suit with what I later found out was his own raspy brand of goofy laughter. Being able to relate to someone else that quickly was odd – but I suppose it was the upside of meeting another goof just like me. I wondered if he had as much to hide as I did beneath the silly exterior, but I doubt I'd get an answer to that question that soon.

"Where're you from?" David asked casually after our laughter subsided.

"North Carolina."

"Isn't there where that writer guy is said to be from? Like, that really famous writer guy whose name I don't remember."

 _Oh, great._

"I thought that was just a rumor?" Scott queried inquisitively. "I mean, nobody's confirmed anything, right?"

"Yeah, but it's the closest anyone's ever gotten to finding out about him. Not like anyone should care, but still..."

I cleared my throat softly and excused myself, ducking out of the conversation to get a drink from the bar. I wasn't in any mood to discuss Sid Rouile – I came all the way here to take a long break from being him, and I definitely wasn't interested in talking about him or his 'life'. Quite frankly, not being Sid bugged me slightly more than when I was Sid. Whilst I was Sid, it became accepted over time that I was going to remain anonymous. Not being Sid reversed all that – it sparked discussion about Sid's identity again, and it started an entire slew of questions about Sid once more that I would probably have avoided if I never announced that I was taking a long hiatus from being Sid.

But I digress. I was queuing in line for a drink at the bar when the guys caught up with me again, eager for a drink as well. I offered to get the drinks for everyone, just so they wouldn't have to wait, but they still insisted on waiting beside me and keeping me company. I was fine with that.

"By the way, one of David's sisters is tending the bar right now," Marcel pointed out. "So all the more we should stay and say hi."

"Stop hitting on my sister, you bitch," David burst out.

"Nobody's hitting on your sister." Scott scoffed. "But nobody's saying she isn't pretty, either."

And in what possibly seemed like the most stereotypical rendition of an Irish accent ever, David retorted -

"Fock off."

I tried my hardest to suppress the giggle that was slowly bubbling up within me, but it was one of those moments where the more I tried, the harder it got – and I think I may have let slip of the little giggle, because David gave me a glare of slight annoyance that softened quickly into amusement. At least, of course, that defused the tension between Marcel, Scott and David – if it even truly existed in the first place, as there was an overwhelming light-heartedness that hung over the entire exchange.

"'Sup boys, what d'you want?" A sharp, high voice called out. The bartender – another otherworldly beauty – smiled at us, her smile slightly lopsided yet perfected by a set of dimples on her cheeks.

"Drinks for everyone, Diane. Could you give us a little extra on the account of the new boy?" Scott replied, pulling an overly sweet, yet charming smile.

"I wouldn't even give you extra on the account of David, so what do you think?" The bartender shot back, an eyebrow raised as she examined me from head to toe, curiosity reflected in her olive eyes. I could've sworn I saw a small sparkle in her eyes - a tiny, hopeful sparkle – that got immediately stamped out by a sudden rush of coldness that sprung up from some dark place in her, and suddenly, I had a feeling I wasn't well liked by her.

"Aw, not even because he's cute?" Marcel urged.

" _Especially_ not because he's cute." Diane insisted coldly and pushed a number of cups in our direction. "Now go pay up at the other side."

"She isn't in a good mood today, is she?" Marcel commented as we left the line at the bar. "What's up with that?"

David shrugged as he handed a bunch of notes carelessly over to a girl by a till. "I don't know. She was fine when we all left the house earlier. Anyway, we better hurry before Alex notices I'm missing and not watching her score. And by score I think she really means embarrassing herself. Really, the past couple of games have just been her getting owned by the other team."

"I don't think she'll notice," Scott said. "The crowd looks pretty thick. I don't think it was like this last week – what's up today?"

David shrugged once more, and casually answered (as if it was a viable and proper answer) –

"Brandon."

And yet, the rest seemed to understand immediately what it meant. The look on their faces reflected it all – recognition, understanding, exasperation and awe. Marcel shook his head as he grimaced slightly, snorting slightly in a cold, almost sarcastic parody of a laugh. Scott, on the other hand, simply let his jaw drop, exasperation gathering into a slight frown. Meanwhile, I simply stood and watched, quite unsure of what the problem was.

"What's wrong with that guy?" I broke the silence for the first time in minutes.

"He's a dick." Marcel answered quickly.

Scott quickly followed up - "Douchebag."

"O…kay…?"

"Don't listen to them," David cut in. "They've just been listening to Diane way too much, and she hates his guts."

"Hate whose guts?" Another high voice sprang from behind us, thick with an accent similar to the one that David spoke with. "If you're talking about yourself, yeah, I hate your guts, David. _You said you would be watching!_ "

The trio beside me froze momentarily, and after a long pause, began to turn mechanically and robotically, looking as if they had just seen hell. It was a rather comical sight given the situation that we were all in – we were on a sunny beach in the midst of a joyous crowd of people with upbeat music blasting from the bar, and the weather was perfect and wondrous – and yet it seemed as if doom had befallen on the three men before me. I wasn't sure if it came out the way I wanted it to, but I tried my best to suppress the urge to laugh once more.

"Ooh, who's the new guy?" The same voice asked, as another (frankly, beautiful) girl appeared from behind us with a taller man accompanying her. Perhaps her light, ash-brown hair that glowed slightly under the sunlight was the most eye-catching thing about the pair, but my attentions were mainly turned towards the man.

I don't know if it's an experience solely germane to me, but I sometimes associate certain words and names with people – and the man, this gorgeous hunk that appeared before me almost certainly screamed quite a few words at me and sent all the alarms in my system going off. He seemed perfect, absolutely _perfect_ from every angle, so perfect that it was dangerous for me. I could've stood on a crumbling piece of rock on a high cliff and would still feel less afraid than I did that day – because at least I wasn't going against my oath to myself that I would never, ever commit again. He was perfectly gorgeous, and perfectly flawless. It was almost as though the heavens above were playing a trick on me by bringing the one person that I had written from sheer passionate fantasy to life. He was a 'Grant', the 'Grant' to my 'Ash'. The dangerously perfect being that could either make me or break me, the angel that was so perfect and too great for me, out of everybody's reach and out of this world. The person that I could foresee getting close to in a world of mystery and tragedy, so close that it was dangerous…

But everything I've written in _Gold_ isn't reality. It isn't real, and neither Grant nor Ash aren't real. Their friendship and subsequent relationship is a work of fiction. My magnum opus simply just isn't real. And currently, in reality, everything was very real, even he was.

He was perfect, he definitely was, as I had imagined the hero of _Gold_ to be. Yet, he carried about that darkness in his eyes that I was beginning to get used to that so many in this place carried. There was something broken about this man, something cold and cynical that was distrusting and possibly hated the world. I was so caught up in observing the man that I almost didn't notice when his lips parted, and almost missed his words as he spoke.

"And now you've scared them. Honestly, Alex, you've got to stop being so mean to your friends."

"Shut up, I wanna know the new guy." She snapped back, eyes fixated on me, and held out her hand for a handshake, which I took. "I'm Alex."

I introduced myself.

"Nice to meet you, Jonathan." She beamed at me, her smile warm and genuine. I remembered her most clearly out of all the new people I had met that first day – she carried about a youthful sort of hope and an impressive amount of ambition, and unlike the man beside her, there was no strange coldness deep within her demeanor that she hid behind a polished exterior. Strangely, she sort of reminded me of my own new roommate – not that they looked alike in any way, but they both carried a certain sort of brightness that was unattainable for a person as tainted with darkness as I am. And it was also because of that realization that she had something that I could never have, as entranced as I was with her and her nature, I was a tad bit jealous. But for the most part, I liked her. She was as genuine as any person could get – and I adored that.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"I hope these bums are treating you well. Especially my brother _who abandoned me halfway through_."

"Be nice." The man beside her chided. He turned his gaze towards me, a piercing, interested gaze, and for a moment there was a little sparkle – as if he was a child that had just seen a new toy to play with, a new toy that was all his for the taking. If the alarms in my system hadn't already all gone off, it was going off once more, this time blaring much louder than before.

"I'm Brandon. Childhood friend of theirs."

"International supermodel." Alex joked.

" _Photographer_ first," he corrected. "Then maybe a model."

From the corners of my eyes, I caught a glimpse of my neighbors attempting to hide an eye-roll.

"Anyway, as I was saying before," Alex continued, "I hate your bloody guts. How could you just walk away because you saw your friends?!"

David raised his hands up to his face in surrender. "Okay look, I'm sorry! It's Jonathan's first time here and we were just hanging."

Alex giggled – a high, girly giggle. "Fine. I'm not going to kill you. It's just that I managed to win a game, for once, with some help from Brandon, of course. And you just weren't there to see it. But I'm sure there'll be more of that. _If you guys want to see it, that is_."

And that was that. There was no argument - or at least one that we could win, anyway. We simply went on to watch a number of beach volleyball matches between numerous good-looking people, with Alex and Brandon forming a rather efficient team and fetching themselves a number of victories. Not once did we think of doing much else – after all, it was rather entertaining to watch. We even got to play a few matches of our own, but to nobody's surprise, I was a terrible player. As the sky darkened slightly towards the late afternoon and crowd slowly began to dissipate, we continued on with our game, even switching up the teams to even things out. In that period of time, even with the help of Alex or Marcel, I was still a terrible player that dragged everybody down. I suppose sports really can never be my thing.

But that first day was the benchmark, the yardstick for the few other days to come. It was sort of like a routine – the moment we determined that the weather was good and satisfactory, we would come sidling down to the beach for drinks and volleyball matches as well as chats over meals with each other. It was a simple, yet rather enjoyable way to while the days away, and I was perfectly happy to stick to that routine.

It was earlier tonight, however, as the sun began to set, that I hung back a little, whilst Marcel and Scott decided to go for a game against Alex and David. Instead of watching them, I turned my gaze towards the setting sun – a beautiful blend of orange, pink, purple and dark blue all across the sky, with the picturesque scene adorned with fluffy little clouds that accentuated the colors and gently dulled the shine of the sun. I think, at that point, I must've had a stupid look on my face – as if I hadn't seen the sun set before – but Brandon, who sat by my side, looked at me and whispered –

"You're interesting, you know that?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You're interesting," he breathed, eyes twinkling. "An interesting game is before you but you prefer to watch the sun set."

"It's – it's beautiful, that's all."

"It sure is, isn't it?" He sighed, eyes turning towards the ever-dimming sky. "The photographer in me wishes I could take a picture of this. But I shan't."

"Why not?" I queried inquisitively.

"Why should I?" He shot back, grinning handsomely. "Beauty isn't always in pictures, you know. It's in the moment, in the people..."

He paused for a moment, looking back at me with a rather incomprehensible look on his face. I would say it was caught between interest and amusement – yet, there was restraint, and that odd coldness that I saw in him bubbled to the surface momentarily once more.

"Maybe I should take a picture of you someday." He simply said, before drawing his eyes back to the sky. "You'd be a very pretty subject."

* * *

I had spent so much time on the beach with my new friends before that I'd miss Evan waking up in the morning and I'd miss him when I came back. I hadn't quite figured out what he was doing, but I supposed that he was out clearing up the paperwork and the important stuff for his move here. It wasn't until he managed to catch me one night as I came back from the beach that I found out much, much more.

He was cooking up dinner – or at least, trying to. The apartment smelled – I suppose, interesting – when I entered, and all I could hear were pans sizzling, Evan murmuring feverishly to himself and the sound of something solid being abused repeatedly.

"What – what are you doing?!" I almost yelled as the mess of a scene became much clearer to me. Whilst two pans of aromatic vegetables were sizzling away peacefully and wondrously, a pot of sauce was protesting furiously under the blazing heat and was emitting a rather foul smell. At the same time, attempts to portion cuts of meat seemed to be going terribly wrong, with Evan slowly descending into a nervous wreck and the chopping board scarred by each new attempt.

"Trying to cut this up," he growled, voice shaking slightly.

I gently placed a hand over his and eased the knife away from him, making sure that not a single inch of the sharp blade was in any of our directions.

"I'll do it," I coaxed softly. "Go take care of the sauce, it's burning."

I'll be honest – I'm not a great cook, and I most definitely am no chef. I can make a meal just good enough to feed myself and save my life, but none of my attempts were consistently good. I had my fair share of failures in the kitchen every now and then (a problem easily solved with pizza or a meal out with Luke) and I definitely had times where my work tasted subpar. But what compelled me to intervene wasn't a feeling of superiority, neither was it a feeling that I could salvage it – but merely because I couldn't bear to watch Evan struggle any further. After all, he could potentially lose a good (and perhaps rather pricey) dinner.

Silently, I felt his hand slowly ease underneath mine, and its warmth soon left my hand. He sighed softly and began an attempt to salvage to smoking sauce.

"I know, it's kind of pathetic." He admitted with another sigh.

"Hm?"

"I mean – I can't cook to save my life. I'm so used to simply eating out or ordering a pizza or something, or just having meals with my parents… and I'm just hopeless in the kitchen. I wanted to try to _not_ burn down the kitchen just once, but even that failed."

I let out a rather amused chuckle. "Maybe you should've started with something simpler. And maybe plan out what to do first instead of trying to do it all at once."

He shook his head slightly in shame. "I should've just made a couple of sandwiches."

"Yeah, you should've." I giggled.

We carried on with attempting to salvage the meal, and it was a long moment full of hard work and precision before we even spoke. Once it was determined that the best we could do with the meat was to oven-bake it, we simply set it into the oven and decided to take a well-deserved break before we served up the (hopefully edible) meal.

"So… 'bitch, please', huh?" He teased, his voice gruff with the strain of restrained amusement.

"Hey," I defended. "I thought it was funny."

"I know, I know. It actually was," he chuckled softly, and then continued, "Of all people, I just had to get the class clown to be my roommate. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Hey, the class clown was nice enough to let you share the place. And also – who're you supposed to be then, the jock?"

"I don't know. Maybe." He shrugged, and then paused suddenly in his tracks as he realized something.

"We just had our first actual proper conversation." He said softly, the wonder in his voice apparent and clearer than ever. "Wow. I thought it was going to be more awkward than this."

I thought the exact same – yet, the conversation came so naturally it barely seemed in any way awkward. The only thing that bugged me was how _distracted_ I was by him. It wasn't my first time examining him from head to toe, but it was definitely my first time examining him _up close_ , and I hated myself for noticing so much about him. For instance, I noticed how defined his muscles were, and how much bulk he packed underneath the tight cat shirt he wore. I noticed how he would lick his lips every now and then, wetting them, and I noticed how amazingly energetic he actually was deep within. There was a spark, an intense flame that danced in his eyes, and it was absolutely fascinating for a person like me to watch. I was drawn to it dangerously, like a moth to an open flame.

"Must be weird just having some guy move in and then not seeing him for really long, huh?" He laughed softly.

"I don't – I don't know. I never had a roommate before." I shrugged, trying my best to tear my eyes off him. "I've always lived alone after I moved out of the family home."

"A guy like you? I don't believe it."

"It's true!"

"Yeah, I suppose," He murmured in a quieter tone, giving up almost immediately. He took a deep breath before he continued – "Do you wanna know where I've been the whole time?"

I nodded, and he began his recount. To be quite frank, I'm not sure if I caught every single detail that he mentioned. The whole time as he spoke, I watched his lips, his face, and my eyes kept darting all over him that I was surprised I was even listening in the slightest.

"I came all the way from Ontario. I mean – I love being in Canada, but then I got offered an athletic scholarship and everything... so I just decided to come here to finish up college. After all, there's more to do here, you know? It's been crazy, having to settle everything on my own in someplace new. But it's mostly settled, you know. I'm on the hockey team, I've met the guys, and I officially start once I begin school."

"Sounds…nice." I managed.

"Yeah, it is. Sort of." He paused for a bit, trying to gather his thoughts, before he began again. "Look, it's just… I wish I had more freedom in this. I love hockey and all, but I just wish I won't have to dedicate all my time outside of school to it, you know? I've been wanting to pursue my other hobbies. I want to play the guitar properly, for instance. I want to jam with someone, maybe start a band. I want to play video games, meet new people. I don't want to just play hockey and study all the time. Just like right now. I wanna get to know you, you know? But that got ruined because I'm tied down by what I have to do."

"It's not too late. I mean… we're getting to know each other now." I pointed out.

He chuckled. "True. Well, I'm Evan from Canada, I'm on the hockey team and I like music and video games. I taught myself how to play the guitar but I'm still rubbish at it. Nice to meet you."

"Well, Evan from Canada, I'm Jonathan from North Carolina. I'm shit at talking, as you can already tell, and I like video games, too. I write sometimes, just for fun."

"By 'for fun' you mean leaving random notes written in some secret code all over the place. And by 'shit at talking' you mean you talk just fine except you don't think before you speak."

I had to laugh. "Close enough. And in your case by being 'rubbish' at the guitar you probably mean that you're a god at it."

We ended up having dinner together that night whilst talking about countless things. It wasn't bad – the sauce was a little wonky (and we considered skipping it entirely but decided to not waste our efforts) but everything else seemed perfectly fine. Meals were always a nice way to bond – it was the one of the ways I integrated myself into the Patterson household all those years back, and now it was the way that we got to know each other. We talked about plenty of things – video games, shows, school, and our lives thus far – which, of course, prompted the inevitable question that almost everybody asked the moment they found out –

"Why college after all this time, though?"

And there was the same answer that I regurgitated every single time it was asked:

"Why not? I mean… after all this time… why not experience what I've missed out on?"

He tilted his head slightly, as though he didn't believe me. "Really?"

"What?"

"So you've decided to drop ten years' worth of progress in the work that you've been doing for some certificate that you don't really need – since you've already gotten this far? Sounds to me more like you're running away from responsibilities."

I was, wasn't I? Finishing up the final instalment of _Gold_ was already quite a pain in the neck for me, and the thought of having to plough on with a plethora of stories wasn't quite as appealing as it was when I began as Sid. I came here because I needed a break. I came here running in hopes of a newer, better chance at life, before deciding to settle down back into the life of the performer that made Sid Rouile a reality.

"Maybe, maybe I am, but I just want to live this life for now, right now."

He took that answer and simply polished off the last of his food on his plate quietly and in possibly the most attractive manner ever. As soon as I caught myself on the verge of thinking the unthinkable, I had to stop myself and restrain myself. It's impossible, after all. I can't do that – not after all that had happened.

Just before we parted for the night to catch some sleep, he gave me a little heads up.

"About your invitation to the beach… I'll drop by tomorrow after I'm done with my stuff. I mean – I've been wanting to visit it myself, anyway."

And in that moment, he gave me a look that I swear could've killed me. It was a little look of promise and hope, combined with a look of playful secrecy, as if we had just made our first little pact together. It was such a charming, boyish look that he shot at me, and I felt my heart stop in its tracks for a few short moments. It was a _dangerous_ feeling that I was feeling that was growing upon me – and it wasn't just for a single person. That irked me to no end: I had sworn myself off romance, but it seemed to be chasing after me like a treacherous bloodhound. I had to shut it down, and I had to put it all to a stop.

* * *

 _I'm so sorry for the lackluster quality of the story (I described this chapter as "puking all over my keyboard") as well as the wait! I struggled with this chapter quite a bit, wringing ideas back and forth and having major doubts about what I had written the spur of the moment. I hope it doesn't happen again for the rest of the story, because I have some quite solid ideas for the story as well as the backstory behind it. I'm also really sorry if some things aren't really elaborated well in this chapter, but I do hope the coming chapters would shine more light on these issues. Again, I'm really sorry if the chapters are coming out rather slowly. Life is, and would always come first. I'll still try to write whenever I can and retreat into my imagination for more ideas, but I can't guarantee much!_

 _-delmin_


	3. Month of Sunlight

I haven't written in just about forever – and I honestly am immensely guilty about that. Between my last entry and now, a lot has happened, and all that has culminated in the dilemma that I suffer today. Which is, to say, whether or not I should attend the Fourth of July beach party I was invited to.

Before all that, however, there was that _trouble_ that I mentioned. I called up Luke that next morning, twiddling my fingers in hope that he was awake (mind you, it was probably still dark in the East Coast), needing to unload my baggage on someone that I could trust. He was, thankfully, awake – although not _wide awake_ like I wished he was. Instead, he was only half awake, which meant that I had to deal with a grumpy old man who wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and to enjoy some shut-eye – something that I had, with my phone call, denied him of.

"What?!" He nearly yelled at me, voice heavy with the need to sleep.

"Were you even listening?" I nearly yelled back.

"No!" He answered loudly. "You've been going back and forth and back and forth and I have no idea what the fuck you're saying!"

"Luke, I – I was saying I missed you, man."

"Like hell you do. You haven't called me in forever and now you call me all blubbering and stuttering like an idiot, the way you always do when you have boy troubles."

"I don't – I - ...Okay, maybe I do, but hear me out, okay? I've just been kind of busy settling down here and so I didn't call you, okay?" I bit my lip slightly, hoping that Luke wouldn't see through my white lie – something that was perfectly wishful thinking, of course:

"Right. So much that you've forgotten about me. Well, at least I don't have to worry about you not settling down in California. You're a big boy now, and you're settling down quickly and making new friends that you've forgotten your own big brother."

"I haven't forgotten you."

"That or you've been too busy staring at some hot guy to remember that I'm sitting here sick and worried for you half the time."

Bingo. He'd hit the nail in the head, as much as I disliked it. Except it was _two_ guys, and not just one. _Two_ guys that are so charmingly beautiful and attractive that it almost felt like the heavens were playing a trick on me, cackling deviously at the fool who had so angrily sworn off ever being together with another person again as the said fool takes interest in not one, but two people. I couldn't help it, either, I was surrounded by incredibly good-looking angels everywhere, from corner to corner, each one equipped with either a killer smile or a killer pout. It was easy to ignore those things, but it wasn't that easy to ignore it all when the killer smiles were tied to killer personalities that made me feel happy with every moment that I spent around them. I wasn't in love – not yet, at least. It was just that warmth, that feeling that you feel just as you feel closer to a person, and as you grow closer, it gets warmer and warmer, like a sort of warm glow in your chest. I wasn't ready to let that happen – and so I decided to lock up that romantic part of me in a dark part of my mind, and tried to ignore his screams as much as I could.

But I couldn't deny that I felt especially nice around Evan – he seemed to understand me and tolerate me and he didn't mind my blundering bum or my stammering mouth. Most of all, he seemed to genuinely like me for who I was, not because I told funny jokes and made him look good. He seemed like someone I could really become great friends with, and someone I could confide in. At the same time, I felt the same strain around Brandon, albeit slightly duller and slightly colder. They were similar, I concluded of the two, with the main and possibly the most drastic difference being in their demeanor. Brandon had a colder, more cynical and weary look in his eyes, whilst Evan was warm and boundlessly energetic. As attractive as they both were to me, I refused to let myself fall in love with them.

But I digress again. I was speaking on the phone to Luke, and my silence to his statement was met with a triumphant, yet disappointed little sigh.

"Bullseye."

I returned his sigh with my own. "Look, Luke… I'm sorry."

"I know you are. I'm sorry myself." There it was again, Luke being the generous big brother and letting me have my way. It was that thing that he did – apologizing first (even when it wasn't his fault), being understanding and gentle and stepping away from any conflict that we had – and it all made me feel terrible for being the mean guy. He was too kind and too good, and I felt miserable for that. It made me more compelled to apologize even more, and it made me even more compelled to atone for my sins.

"Look…Is there _any way_ at all that I can make you feel better? I'm really sorry, Luke. I just want to make it up to you."

But I was milking it. I was using that syrupy, overly sweet voice I used ever since I was little – the one that I used when I wanted to charm my way into someone's good books. It was how – despite my tendency to be the class clown – the teachers could never seem to fault me. At least, not seriously enough. It was all too easy – thicken the accent, sound really innocent and sweet…

I suppose it had an effect on Luke, too, because he had to clear his throat and growl at me to stop using that voice, and that it was hard to stay angry at me when I was doing that.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" I asked softly.

"Yeah, as much as I hate it," Luke replied, his voice gruff and still dripping with a humored annoyance. "Just make sure that I know if you're still alive every once in a while. What's up this time, anyway? Which guy stole your heart this time?"

I grimaced. " _Guys_. And I'm not in love, I just feel like… if I'm careless… I might be."

"God _damn_ , Jonathan. It's been forever. You've gotta get over it and let go. Date someone new, get laid, I don't care. Just let go of him. You can't keep pining away forever and not let yourself be with anybody else just because he's gone. It's time to move on, Jonathan, and you know it."

I knew he would say that – he's always been saying that. But I couldn't. I couldn't let my heart be moved by another again, not after the one man that stole my heart vanished. I couldn't let myself feel that sort of affection again after swinging back and forth between anger that he had probably let me down and hope that he would eventually return. I couldn't love whilst wondering if he was still out there loving me or if he had truly left me without a single thought of me. I couldn't love whilst I was left hanging.

But Luke thought differently. He held on to hope just like I did at first, and kept telling me that he was probably fine. Whenever he could, he held my hand when I thought I was about to cry from despair. He'd held me whenever I was crying because I was practically losing the plot. But after some time, that hope vanished within him. He wasn't certain what had happened to the man I loved, but he chalked it down to either him secretly eloping with someone else or him being killed in a crash without any identification. I wasn't ready to believe either – but he didn't care. All he was sure of was that he wasn't coming back. At that point, slowly, he told me to cop on and deal with it. And so I did, for the most part. I went back to my life and wrote the feelings away. I stopped crying, and I stopped pining – but it never stopped me wondering and hoping, and neither did it stop me from being afraid to ever be in love again.

I'd decided then that Luke wasn't going to convince me and neither was I going to change Luke's mind about what my next course of action should be, and so I decided to cut that part of the conversation short and change the subject.

"Ugh, this is getting too cheesy for me," I complained. "Have you sent my stuff out yet?"

"Nope," he deadpanned. "I was actually rather tempted to burn them instead, since I figured out you didn't really care about them or me anymore."

"Oh come on, you're still on about that?!"

But I had to laugh. This felt more familiar, and I honestly missed hearing Luke's voice as well as the way he'd speak to me. Over here, nobody reached that level of crassness that Luke seemed to always bring around, but at least he was honest and just about as genuine as anybody could get.

And so I was in hysterics the whole time that I was on the phone with my big brother for the first time in what felt like forever, talking about my new life here, the new people I've met since I last called him, the insane weather and how embarrassed I was in my first meeting with Evan. Yet, despite all that, one of the ghosts of my past still haunted me, hanging over me as I laughed, as if it were waiting to pounce.

It got so bad that the moment I got off the phone with Luke, I was dying to distract myself so that I wouldn't think about the man I loved. I quickly left the empty apartment and knocked on my neighbors' door, hoping that they would head occupy my time with some activity that they had come up with for the rest of the day.

When I knocked, however, everything else was silent. There was not a single sound coming from within the apartment, and neither was there a response to my call. My apartment was silent, and so was theirs. They were, evidently, not at home.

I considered for a moment where I would go to spend my day. I could wander about Los Angeles and do some window-shopping of my own. I could go about taking pictures for my emails to Luke, or I could simply drop by Mrs. Sandler's place and have tea with her (and possibly learn a trick or two in the kitchen for the sake of my and Evan's sanity).

Yet there was the beach, right there through the windows, staring at me and calling out to me with its siren song. There was already so much familiarity within it that I was drawn to it, and unknowingly, I was already walking towards the golden glimmer that was the beach.

I had a difficult time picking out a single familiar face through the thick crowds that had gathered around the volleyball nets as well as by the shoreline. I must've looked like a complete fool, standing there squinting in the distance as I looked around for any signs of Marcel or Scott or David or Alex or…

"Jonathan, right?" A voice called out from the (surprisingly empty) bar.

I turned about sharply on my heel, not quite sure what to expect other than Diane standing there, a look of sharp disapproval on her face and her hands on her hips. What I saw was only very slightly different – her hands were not on her hips, but outstretched, gesturing for me to come closer to her. I obliged quickly, unsure, yet afraid to incur her wrath.

"I thought I recognized you." She muttered as I came closer. "None of them are here right now. They're off to somewhere I don't know to eat and shop and probably won't drop back until much later."

"Oh." I simply breathed.

Her eyes narrowed as she took a moment to study me once more, as if she did not get a chance to study me thoroughly enough the first time through. This time, however, she studied me with a critical eye, searching for something within my own eyes for a long while before the harshness in her demeanor subsided slowly, as if she found what she wanted to find. I was definitely painfully curious about what she thought about me, but I couldn't speak in the face of the lioness herself.

She leaned in towards me and whispered, "Be careful around Brandon."

I blinked stupidly. "What?"

"I said, be careful around Brandon. He's a coward and he'll break your heart."

"I don't –"

"No, you do," she cut in. "He's irresistible and you know it. And you're the exact type he'd go for."

"How'd – how would you know that?" I tried to challenge weakly, only for her to glance at me incredulously.

"I _dated_ him. I've known him forever now. I'm still working with him – that is, whenever I'm not doing my own shoots or helping out at this bar. He broke my heart for someone like you, and ended breaking the poor boy's heart too. And trust me, he's interested in you. His eyes are so empty, but they flicker so slightly when you appear or when you're mentioned. You don't see it, but I do. And I'm telling you to be careful unless you want your heart to be broken by this coward of a man."

Suddenly I understood the reasons behind the visceral reactions that Marcel and Scott had when Brandon was mentioned. There was that wonderfully bitter picture that Diane had painted for them, one that portrayed Brandon as a heartless coward who used trickery and deception to break as many hearts as he could. He was a playboy, a heartbreaker, the big bad man who broke her apart and left destruction in his wake. And it was all that that I was not ready to believe. He had seemed like a perfectly fine, a perfectly attractive and amiable person when we first met. He had seemed like an interesting enough individual to hang around with, and he had not been the playboy Diane had made him out to be. There was that lack of interest in everybody – as if he saw them as people and not as playthings. It was all that perfection that made my heart steer into a dangerous direction around him, and it was also all that that made me resistant to Diane's words.

In that same moment I also thought I saw Diane a little clearer. She wasn't as beautiful as she was on the outside, or as perfect as she was on the outside. Her eyes, despite being the same olive as David's, were nowhere near as warm. Her lopsided grin seemed almost like a dark, manipulative smirk, as if she were gloating about something terrible. I wasn't sure if I intensely disliked her yet, but I didn't have the best of opinions of her.

"He doesn't seem like that. He hasn't 'played' a single person ever since I met him." I pointed out.

A mirthful laugh escaped her lips. "He's got his eyes on you, Jonathan. He's not going to pay attention to anyone else other than you. That is, until he decides he's had enough fun. He's not a serial playboy, Jonathan, he's in for the long haul. And if I were you, I'd stay well away."

She conjured a cup from nowhere and took a sip, before starting again –

"Of course, I can't control you. I can only warn you but I can't make you _not_ fall for him, can I?" She sighed softly and sorrowfully, so sadly that I might have felt terrible for her if not for her bitterness. "And I can't blame you for your heart, either. I can't even blame his when he…"

Her voice trailed off, and her gaze became slightly distant. She was remembering something – perhaps something bittersweet, for she carried a pained smile on her face as she immersed herself in her recollections. The scene before me had such a melancholic quality that I chose not to disrupt it. After all, I had something else to think about.

" _He's got his eyes on you, Jonathan._ "

My heart swelled rather uncomfortably at that idea. I loved it and hated it at the same time. It was nice feeling liked and appreciated, but it was… painful knowing that he felt what I felt. The mutuality of our attraction for each other would mean an impending relationship, which, in my current state, was impending doom instead. I liked him, and he liked me back. But a relationship was impossible, and that added to the hurt.

"Hey, uh," Diane's voice cut in once more, her voice lighter this time. "On another note, Alex and the guys are holding a huge beach party on the Fourth of July. I've been told to tell you about it and invite you while they're all away. So… Please come to the beach party?"

I shot her an incredulous look. I wasn't quite sure what she wanted from me – she sounded incredibly sincere in her invite, as if she really, truly wanted me to be there, and that she really, truly wanted to know me better. Yet, her words from mere minutes ago seemed so hostile and so unwelcoming, as if she didn't like the idea of me, or of Brandon, or of me and Brandon.

She answered my look with a soft sigh. "Sure, I know, I'm a big meanie for saying all that. I don't care. Come to the beach party, anyway. Everybody wants to see you there. Even _I_ do."

She turned away to serve a group of people who had begun to gather at the bar, and the chatter began to flood and drown out everything else that I could hear. Slowly, I walked away from the bar and towards the shoreline. I settled myself down a nice distance away from the water, lying my body down on the warm sand as the sunlight filtered through the clouds and the warmth of it all gently caressed my face. It was there that I spent possibly eons staring at the familiar sky and the familiar clouds, listening to the waves crash against the rocks nearby almost as if it were dancing to the beat of the music in the background. The solitude was calming and surprisingly welcome – it gave berth for reflection and space for myself. Everything was so peaceful, so calm, and the clouds above were forming mesmerizing patterns…

I think I must've daydreamt, or fallen half asleep right there and then, because the next thing I knew, a handsome face was staring down at me from the slightly darkening sky above me.

The face began to speak. "I'm surprised you could sleep like that. It's hot and it's bright."

I sat up almost immediately, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest. Of all the people I had to see, I saw one of the two people I didn't expect to see that early that day. It took me some time before I could regain myself and turn back to look into his brown eyes.

"I didn't expect you to be here _that_ early, Evan."

"Early?" He shot me a look. "It's nearly dinnertime, silly. I came back and you weren't home, so I figured you were probably here. I just didn't realize it's so comfy that you'd be taking a good long nap here."

"I didn't think… I didn't think I'd fall asleep," I murmured, and looked around us before commenting, "Everyone's gone, now."

"Yeah," Evan replied, making himself comfortable beside me. "Well, no complaints here. The quiet's nice every once in a while."

An appreciative silence fell upon the both of us then, and it was another moment before he spoke again –

"Regardless… I'm not quite sure how you can spend all your time here for the past… I don't know how long."

"I have friends, you know," I bit back. "Everything's better with friends."

He chuckled, and patted my shoulder gently, sending a jolt of electricity straight through my body and down my front. "I suppose so."

I wasn't quite sure if I was in Heaven or in Hell in that one split second of physical contact that we had. Looking back, it was definitely an overreaction on my part, and he probably meant it as a friendly gesture – one that I had, in my confused mind, thought of something a little more. It was that combination of attraction and generally feeling great around him that might've made me feel that way, but in any case, I didn't want to feel that way. I drew my feelings back as quickly as I felt it, catching my heart in my hands before it flew away in my roommate's direction.

He spoke once more. "So are you ever going to introduce me to these new friends of yours, or are you going to keep them all to yourself?"

He was smiling at me, his eyebrows raised in a questioning, yet joking fashion. I could feel my cheeks burning away under his glance, and I barely was able to tear my eyes away from him just as another voice called out –

"Jonathan!"

I quickly whipped around, taking the chance to hide my face from Evan.

There they were, all my new friends heading towards me. Marcel was waving at me with both his arms up in the air, whilst Scott flipped me off from a distance. Alex's small frame was being piggybacked by Brandon, who flashed me a killer smile that was somehow able to stab me straight through the heart from that far away. David, on the other hand, looked absolutely embarrassed by them, and had his shaking head in his hands.

"I see they're here," Evan breathed, before hastily adding as he tried to stand, "I think I should go. I –"

"Don't."

I grabbed onto his hand quickly, the grains of sand rubbing between our skin. His skin was warm and his palm was slightly wet and most of all, my system was short circuiting under the delight of contact, but I held onto his hand for dear life. I needed him to be there for me. I _wanted_ him to know my new friends, and I _wanted_ to include him in my life. It was the very least I could do for him after not being in his for far too long.

"There you aaaare," Alex sang as she hopped off Brandon's shoulders and leapt towards me. "We thought you weren't coming today, and then we came back and Diane said you're heeeere."

"Uh, guys," I began. "This, uh, this is Evan. My roommate. Evan, this is Brandon, David and his sister Alex. And I _think_ you've already met Marcel and Scott."

"Hi guys," Evan began awkwardly, his shoulders still tense and his fingers painfully and firmly wrapped around mine, possibly crushing them in the process. He wasn't exactly comfortable in the presence of new people, and I understood exactly how he felt. A part of my mind wondered how a person like him could be that intensely uncomfortable in a new social setting. He was good-looking, and he was funny and charming – a complete contrast to how he was acting then.

Brandon was the first to react. He held his hand out to Evan and they shook hands quite mechanically, eyeing each other and examining each other thoroughly. I was reminded of the jocks in the football team back in school sizing each other up before a match – and Evan and Brandon had a similar air about them, except they were smiling the entire time.

"I'd have thought you were his boyfriend, but it seems you're just his roommate," Brandon laughed, an almost insincere note buried in his laugh. "You two are holding hands like you'd die if you let go."

Flustered, we let go of each other's hands, trying to explain the situation without it sounding odd – but no matter how we tried (or at least, no matter how _I_ tried), it still sounded weird. In the end, we both gave up and settled for the idea that we were simply playing around. By the end of it, however, the rest were in giggling fits. It was then that we both gave up entirely and joined in the laughter. Not a single one was spared – perhaps except Brandon, who had a coy smile upon his face that seemed to hide a million words from me.

"Anyway," Marcel began, wiping his eyes as the last of his laughs escaped him. "Sorry about leaving you alone here. We were hungry, Alex wanted to buy some stuff, so we ran off without thinking much. I think Diane told you about the Fourth of July beach party?"

I nodded, but Evan shook his head and turned towards me instead.

"They've organized one for the Fourth of July," I told him. "I was asked to come."

"You can come if you like, too," Alex piped up, her voice slightly higher than usual. "It's open for everybody to come, anyway."

"I don't know… it's your party –"

"– which you are very free to attend," Brandon cut in. "Just come. At the very least, come and accompany Jonathan. He'll want his dear roommate to be around, won't you, Jonathan?"

"Y-yeah…" I said after a long pause. It wasn't that I didn't want him to come – but I was very sure I wasn't ready to see _beach_ Evan. Casual Evan was already pretty enough.

Evan thought about it for a while, nibbling on his lower lip as he considered hesitantly whilst everybody else around us begged him to come. Everybody seemed interested in getting to know the golden man, and everybody wanted his presence at the party. I didn't blame them – he did, after all, look like the sort of person that you wanted to get to know straight off the bat.

"Alright. I'll be there."

A cheer erupted from my new friends – a cheer of joy, of happiness, of anticipation. I wasn't quite that enthusiastic, and suddenly, I didn't know if I wanted to go for the Fourth of July party anymore. I was suddenly really scared of what might come from it, and what might ensue.

* * *

The Fourth of July. Everybody associates the day with fireworks and celebrations, and I associate it with what is singularly both the most amazing and the worst experience of my life. At least, that's what I associate it with this year's Fourth of July.

I was still unsure if I wanted to go for the party on the day itself. Yep – on the morning of the Fourth of July, I moped about the apartment, dressed in my pajamas and unsure if I should even go to a party that I half-promised that I would go to. I did everything _except_ prepare myself for the party – I slumped on a couch and ate a good portion of a can of Pringles, and I reclined against a lounger by the pool. I even returned to bed, sleepless, hoping I wouldn't have to think about the dilemma if I fell asleep. But I didn't, and I was caught between my choices. On top of that, I was bored to death.

I had been waiting for ages for my stuff to arrive. Luke dropped me a message earlier that week about him sending out my things, and amongst the things that I neglected to bring in my luggage that I missed terribly were all my games. I was aching to play something, and I missed the thrill and the escape that playing games gave me. It would've been a great distraction in all the mild internal turmoil that I had been going through, but the postal services seemed to have decided that they would deny me that joy with their incompetence.

"I still haven't got my stuff. I'm bored to… I don't know, death." I told Luke over the phone for the second time in less than a day. "I wanna play something but there's nothing here. I've even checked with the post offices and everything but there's _nothing_."

"I don't know, man, but you can't expect it to appear out of nowhere. I've only mailed it for a couple of days, it'll take some time."

"But I'm _bored_ ," I drawled lazily. "I'm bored and I wanna play something."

"God damn it, you sound like a little kid." Luke grumbled. "Get off your ass and do something. Go read something. Or just do your favorite and write a story."

"I'm out of ideas." I complained.

"Well, that's a first," he replied, sounding genuinely surprised. "I've never heard you say that before. Does your brain _ever_ run out of ideas?"

"As of these days, yeah. I can't write more than a page before I feel like jumping off a cliff."

Silence came from the other end, before a loud screech sounded in the background.

"Maybe you should," he finally said. "Then at least you'd have something to do. Maybe you should hook up with whichever hot guy you've set your sights upon."

Another screech sounded in the background.

"First – I don't like heights," I defended. "And you know the second part is impossible for now. Anyway, you aren't servicing your dearest again, are you?"

"Hey, she's high maintenance but she's absolutely beautiful, okay. I just needed to tighten a few bolts here and there and she'll be perfect."

I could never understand his love for his cars, especially not the sleek white-and-black one that ran the fastest. I didn't even know what it brand or model it was, and although I had some idea of the specifics that came with it – horsepower, you name it – I was barely interested. Somehow, along the way as we grew up, whilst we developed similar interests and personalities, Luke and I also deviated in ways. He was almost your stereotypical Southern guy: cars, guns, women, slang and all. I had the accent and the colorful Southern vocabulary, but the rest – not quite. What kept him away from the stereotype was that he wasn't half as crazy as the stereotype made us out to be. Instead, I took on the crazy (somewhat). I was insane, hopping mad. I was _delirious_ (I liked that word.).

"Yeah, I know, I'm boring you just talking to you about this baby right here."

"I'm – I'm not. I mean – I'm bored, but not because of you." I sputtered out.

"Whatever," Luke barely enunciated, grunting as if something were between his teeth. "Do something. I bet L.A. has lots of things to do. Tonight, especially. Don't you have some party to go to?"

"Do you have some cross-country mind reading device or something?" I quickly replied. "That's freaky as shit. And yes, I do but I don't know if I should go."

"Go, then. It won't kill you."

At that point there was a click at the door just as Luke hung up, and a beautiful presence entered the room, glowing and shimmering and sending my heart pounding against my chest. It's been what felt like ages now, but Evan's appearance anywhere always seemed to be able to knock the air out of my chest every single time. I suppose he was one of those people who held the definition of being breathtakingly beautiful, and I disliked myself for liking that.

"What're you doing?" He asked, eyes wide with surprise. "It's nearly time for the party at the beach!"

"And what're you doing here? Shouldn't you be there?" I shot back.

He looked away, a slight glint of guilt in his eyes. "I… I wanted to change before I went."

"Really?"

He stared at him steadily until he broke under my glare. "Okay, okay… I was thinking of skipping it. I mean… I don't even know them, they probably won't notice if I wasn't there..."

"I would. And I would scream at you the next time I see you if you weren't there."

"You probably would." He sighed, and walked over to settle beside me on the couch. "What're you doing, then? You should be there by now. Unless you're planning the same as I was."

He glanced at me for a moment before continuing. "You were, weren't you?"

It was my turn to sigh. "Yeah." _Because I thought you were going._

"D'you think we should still go?" He asked after a pause. "I don't think they'll take very lightly to the both of us missing it."

"They won't."

"Then change up and we'll go, I guess."

He slid off the couch, pulling off his shirt as he walked into his room. For a full ten seconds, I had a glorious view of the muscles on his back. I liked it, and I hated that I liked it.

In little to no time at all, we were trudging along the road towards the beach, the loud music already blaring and the countless bright lights shining and blinking away just as the sun was beginning to set and the sky was caught in the brilliant mixture of pink and purple. Everything was ridiculously colorful, with glow sticks of various sizes scattered across the sand. Despite the convivial atmosphere that was starting to reach us, neither Evan nor I were as enthusiastic. We both shared the same dour, dreary mood, although I was pretty sure we had entirely different reasons for it.

It was easy enough to find the group – they were adorned by the most numbers of glow sticks, and even had taken to painting parts of their faces in red, blue and white. They seemed to be getting into the entire celebratory spirit already, even before the sun had set and the fireworks had went. Their enthusiasm seemed contagious enough, and I was sorely tempted simply by their candor to feel enthused and excited.

"Jonathan! Evan!" Alex called out as we approached them. "Thank God you guys came. We kept waiting for you guys, but none of you showed up and we thought you guys bailed on us. We really wanted you guys around, you know. Do you want a drink? Or if you guys are hungry, I can get you guys a skewer from the pit."

"Both sound great, actually," Evan moaned, clutching his stomach slightly. He was hungry – and I was too, to be quite honest. We might not have been quite in the mood for partying hard, but we were definitely famished. It didn't help that we could smell something faintly barbequing away in all its savory goodness.

"Yeah, both sound great," I agreed. "Tell you what, I'll go get us some drinks, and Alex can grab some choice pieces from the pit."

She flashed us a brilliant, devious smile. "I'll bully the guys at the pit for the best stuff. Just you wait!"

I wasn't at all surprised that Evan returned her smile – not at all. I wasn't even surprised that his smile was stunning, as it always was. I was more surprised by the way he looked at her, the way he looked as he smiled back at her. There was a sort of warm glow about it, one that made him sparkle a little bit and make him even more attractive than he already was. I wasn't exactly sure what that look was supposed to be, but I had a nasty suspicion what it might be and what it might all lead to.

It was a short moment before I could tear my eyes away from the man before me. Alex had already set off to do her part for us, and so I did as well, heading towards the bar where Diane stood watching us from a distance.

"You're not tending the bar?" I asked, keeping all emotion out of my voice as best as I could. I still could remember our rather frosty conversation from some time before, and whilst I wasn't sure if I felt great about her, I wasn't going to be nasty to her straight off the bat. It was, after all, the Fourth of July. Even if I wasn't in a party-hard mood, I wasn't going to be a completely party pooper, and I certainly wasn't going to dampen somebody else's spirits.

Her eyes flickered instantly to me as I approached her, and she welcomed me with her usual wary glare that wore down to something a little warmer.

"Not really. It's free for all, but I'll still grab you a drink if you like." She replied. "I think Alex likes him. Your roommate, I hear?"

"Evan." I told her.

"Well, I think she likes him. I know my younger sister like the back of my hand. She's unusually cheery and chatty, which means she's interested. And I think he likes her back – somewhat."

"He's just being nice. He's always nice."

"Eh," She shrugged almost nonchalantly, and handed me two cups of ice-cold drinks that she carelessly grabbed from a tray on the other side of the counter. "I don't care. It doesn't affect me in any way, so it doesn't matter to me and I don't care. But _you_ do."

I took the drinks from her and raised an eyebrow. "I do?"

She smirked in that fashion that I really hated – it was as if she was gloating and mocking me whilst amusing herself all at once. "When you look at him, you have that same dumb look that you have when you talk about Brandon."

"I don't." Never have I wanted to hide my face more from her. Not only have we started our relationship off on a rocky note, she was able to see through me almost instantly, and I felt incredibly stupid trying to cover up everything in front of her prying eyes.

"Whatever keeps you happy, Johnny."

"Don't call me that."

"Right. _Jonathan_."

She turned away to tend to the quickly-emptying tray on the other side of the bar counter, and I simply slipped away, having had nothing more to say. I wasn't going to subscribe to that idea, as attractive as Evan was. But I also wasn't quite ready to subscribe to the idea of Evan and Alex being together romantically. I hadn't even considered the possibility of the wonderful roommate that was Evan dating someone. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it – on one hand, I was happy that he might have found someone that he's happy with, but on another, I wasn't too glad that I had to share someone that I just got to know with someone else that soon.

"What's this?" Evan queried almost a little too happily as I approached him with the drinks and traded it with a skewer.

I took a sip. The drink was overwhelmingly sweet, yet it stung with a bite of acidity and the slight burn of alcohol. I wasn't quite clear with this combination, but there was a distinctive taste of pineapple as well as rum within it.

"Pineapple juice with a splash of rum, I think." I answered, taking another intrigued sip. "It's actually really nice."

"Yeah. Alex says her sister's got a taste for these sort of things. That's her by the bar, isn't it?" He nodded towards the area that I just came from. "She keeps looking over at us."

"Yeah, never mind that," I told him. "You look like you're enjoying yourself."

Evan flashed another brilliant smile at me. "Actually, yes. Alex has a way of getting people hyped up. That girl's got some really great energy going around her."

The way he spoke her name – so full of interest and admiration – put me off slightly. I hadn't ever heard him say _anybody_ 's name like that before, and suddenly, I felt like I needed to drown everything out with my drink, as if the slightest splash of alcohol in the drink could somehow wash it all away. And so I hurriedly downed my drink, coughing and spluttering as the sudden burn of the alcohol met my throat. It seemed there was more alcohol in the drink than I had anticipated.

"Easy there," Evan laughed, gently patting my back as I struggled to regain myself. When I did, he held his drink in front of me, still smiling like a god.

"I'm not sure if it's a great idea, but you can have mine. Go slowly with this one."

I took the drink from him mindlessly, hands still shaking slightly from the stress of my coughing fit – although I was pretty sure a good part of the shaking came from the fact that he had his large, warm hands running along my back and his lips curved into the most godlike smile I had ever seen.

I was, however, distracted by something else almost immediately. Not too far away from us, a new song began, with the music blaring loudly from a number of huge speakers near a platform. The song was immensely familiar – something I think I grew up on – but I couldn't put my finger on what its title was. It reminded me vaguely of carnival music at first, before the rhythmic drumbeat chimed in alongside the vocals –

" _WOULDN'T IT BE NICE IF WE WERE OLDER, AND WE DIDN'T HAVE TO WAIT SO LONG?!"_

I winced slightly. Just as I remembered what the name of the song was, I was delivered with what was possibly the worst rendition of it that I would ever hear. The culprit at hand - a brown-haired man that looked much younger than me – stepped up onto a platform with the microphone in his hands, continuing to sing as if he were the best singer in the world. Red-faced, he slurred out his lyrics as he swayed from side to side, and suddenly, despite being initially irked by his terrible singing, I felt bad for him. He was drunker than everybody else, and he was publicly airing his drunkenness at the expense of his dignity.

Evan, however, let out a small laugh beside me. I shot an incredulous look at him, not quite sure what he was finding funny.

"What?" I asked him.

"Looks like everybody's having fun." He replied simply, and took my hand in his. "Come on, let's get a little bit closer."

"Close-?!" I barely managed as he dragged me along with him closer to the platform. Any protest that I had vanished, and I could only focus on one thing. His hands were really warm.

As we made our way through the crowd, a few familiar faces popped up into view. Alex was cheering the man on enthusiastically at the bottom of the platform, alongside David, Scott and Marcel. Not long after we caught sight of her, she cheerily clambered up onto the platform, taking the singing man by an arm, and began singing along with him.

Evan was right – everybody did seem to be having fun. Alex sang her heart out, not caring if she was off key or if she didn't quite sound perfect, beckoning to her friends at the foot of the platform as she did. David shook his head, uninterested, but Marcel and Scott negated his reluctance almost immediately, dragging him playfully up onto the platform with them. Arm in arm, they gathered together to sing without a care in the world. I watched them, almost mystified, slowly downing my new cup of drink as I did.

" _Wouldn't it be nice?_ "

The crowd burst into a mixture of applause, cheers and whooping as the song finally came to an end, with the group on the stage laughing their guts out. They must have caught a glimpse of me and Evan at some point, because Alex soon pointed in our general direction as she snatched the microphone from someone in the group and announced –

"This song goes out to the Beach Booty Boys, aka Jonathan and Evan down there. I see ya!"

A roar of laughter burst out from within the crowd as she addressed us. Evan joined in as well, as if he understood the joke. I didn't.

I think Evan saw the confusion on my face, then, because he quickly turned to explain to me over the commotion. "It's - uh – their new nickname for all of us. According to Alex, that is."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Beats me. They think it's funny."

But I was barely listening. In the distance, a thunderous bang sounded, and soon the sky lit up with an amazing red light. The red suddenly split in the sky, bursting into countless fragments of blinding colors that lingered in the sky for a moment before they fell and faded. Another thunderous clap pierced the air, and the sky lit up once more, illuminating the dark night sky with its light, before shattering into a gazillion petals of brilliant bright light.

It was a stunning sight to behold.

I stood there, looking silly, watching as the sky lit up before me again and again. At some point, I felt an arm slide under my right arm and over my left shoulder. I turned, my head beginning to spin a little, and for a moment I thought I would see Evan – but Evan was on my other side, his large, warm hand still gripping onto my left hand. Instead, Brandon stood before me, charming smile and all, dark hair slightly matted and wet.

"Hey," he said loudly over the continued bursts of fireworks. "Like what you see?"

I sure did. The fireworks were amazing, but Brandon looked amazing as well – at least, that's what my swirling head thought. Somehow, everything was becoming blurry and my head was swimming more and more, but I wasn't about to collapse. It was a _pleasant_ sort of swirling, the one that made one feel lightheaded in a _good_ way, like there wasn't anything that they needed to care about in the world. I wasn't quite sure of how it happened, but instead of answering Brandon, I started giggling instead.

"I'll take that as a yes," Brandon replied, smiling with a hint of incredulity. "Hi, Evan."

Evan returned his greeting quietly over the continued explosions in the sky as well as my compulsive giggling. He carried the same expression that Brandon did – and for a moment, looking at the both of them, I confirmed why I had a terrible crush on the both of them at the same time. They were so similar in ways, yet different in others, and no matter how many times I note that to myself, the similarity kept striking me hard. In the state that I was, the similarity charmed me even further.

From thereon it was just a downhill tumble.

At some point in the night, everybody else joined us. Alex came back with gazillions of skewers which I think I devoured with such insane zeal it was funny to me and just about everybody else who wasn't grossed out by my eating habit, and David made a point of whipping a guitar out of nowhere and gracing our ears with a couple of songs he wrote on his own. For a person with the oddest accent on the planet that I had ever heard, he sang incredibly clearly and beautifully – not that I was the best judge at that point. At another point, a group of teenagers came running past us with some water guns and sprayed us down with them, to the ire of David and to the amusement of the rest of us. I vaguely remembered keeling over in the sand slightly as I laughed myself silly, euphoric, and when I stood up again, the world whirled around me on the spot.

My legs stopped being able to cooperate with my barely functioning head then. They gave way quickly, and I wobbled on the spot, tipping over almost immediately.

"Whoah there!"

I felt Evan's hands on my back, large and warm and calming. He held onto me as I sagged, my weight pressing onto his body. I couldn't think.

"Are you okay?" He asked, concerned.

I looked around groggily, everything still somewhat weirdly amusing to me. Brandon's eyes bore into mine from a distance, worry building up behind the mask of coolness he held his face in.

"'Mo-kay." I slurred. I wasn't even sure if I had said anything else or if I had even said it correctly at all, but it was these words and my continued slumping that made Evan cut our little outing on Independence Day short. He promptly announced to everybody that he was taking me home, and with surprisingly little effort, lifted me onto his back and piggy-backed me away from the crowds and the music and the shouts of joy that surrounded us. I would've felt more apologetic for leaving everybody that early, but everything was just a blur of faces and noises and people and I wasn't sure what exactly was going on any longer. There were very few things that I was sure of from that point onwards.

But I was sure when I woke up that something odd had happened. I was in my bed, partially undressed and all, but my head hurt. I felt like something was awfully missing from my system, and if felt like sheer misery. Something that gave me joy the night before was gone, and I badly wished that it could come back.

Outside of my room, two voices were arguing in hushed voices – one high, and one low. It took me some time before I could properly make out what they were saying.

"Look, I'm really sorry _that_ happened. Nobody knew what was going on, we were all a little buzzed from the drinks –"

"And you guys couldn't keep an eye on the consumables? You guys were the ones who organized the party!"

Evan's voice came out in a rough hiss, and for a moment I was startled. In the time that I've had him as a roommate, I haven't heard him that angry before. Of course, I didn't get to see much of him, but it still shocked me that he was capable of that level of fury.

"Well – we didn't expect something like that to happen!" The other voice quietly shot back. _Alex_ , I thought. I wondered what she was doing there, then.

She continued after a short, tense silence between them both. "Diane thinks it's one of the people on bar duty last night. She doesn't know who, but she thinks one of them messed with some of the drinks."

Evan let out a heavy sigh. "Was it just Jonathan?"

"Apparently not." Alex returned his sigh. "Some time after you guys left, one of the kids who drank more than he should have passed out foaming at the mouth."

"OD?"

Silence, followed by another heavy sigh from one of them.

"He's fine, though. The ambulance arrived quickly and the last we heard he got his stomach pumped. But we're not quite sure why some drinks were spiked and why some drinks weren't, and neither were we sure who did it. Diane decided to take responsibility for not being careful enough and resigned this morning."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be – I mean, it's not her main job, anyway. It's just something she decided to do for the summer for kicks." Alex reassured him.

"Not that," Evan replied, tone softening. "I'm sorry I blew up at you. I shouldn't have. It was nice enough that you guys invited us to the party. It's really not your fault if some idiot decides to do something like that."

An awkward silence settled upon them, and I would've simply continued to lie in my bed lazily if not for the fact that my stomach finally protested and demanded that I scour the house for food. Slowly, I pulled myself out of bed, shuffling my heavy feet and dragging my reluctant body out of my room like an old man who just came back from the dead. My head spun slightly as I walked, but I managed to walk out of my own room and into the living area, where Alex and Evan sat. Almost instantly as I entered, Alex sprung up from her area on the couch. Evan followed quickly after her gaze and stood up as well, as if that were an appropriate greeting for me.

"You're awake," he commented. "How are you feeling?"

"Groggy," I replied. "What happened?"

Evan opened his mouth to explained, but Alex cut in quickly –

"Actually, I think I'll go now. I'll see you guys soon."

With a final, quick, longing glance at Evan, she picked up her purse and left the apartment in a flash, the door shutting behind her with a thick thud. For a moment there, as she left, I thought I caught a glimpse of her biting her lip slightly, as if she were trying her best to hide something from us. I knew that look a little too well; _I_ made that look all the time around Evan.

Evan looked absolutely bemused for a moment after she left, before he turned back to me.

"How are you?" He asked again.

"I told you." I replied, my voice thick from sleep.

"Oh yeah, you did."

"What happened?" I asked again, stupidly. "I heard something about the drinks…"

"Yeah. You started acting weird sometime after the fireworks started, and I thought you were just getting drunk. But then you weren't just acting drunk – you were about close to passing out, you weren't even talking right, your eyes were… twitching, kind of. And you only ever had a couple of drinks, so you couldn't have been _that_ drunk. When you started breaking out into a cold sweat in the middle of the night, I figured something wasn't quite right."

Something that was quite blurry in my head surfaced in my memories. I wasn't sure if I had remembered it all correctly, or if it actually happened – and I _needed_ to know.

"Did I do anything s-stupid…? Or weird…?"

Evan paused, hesitating slightly, before saying –

"No."

"Ah, okay." That was all I could managed.

He broke out into one of his incredibly charming smiles again. "Are you hungry? I'll make you a sandwich. I swear I won't mess this one up this time."

I nodded mechanically. Suddenly, despite my hunger, I couldn't really care about food – not when something that I really wanted to be true was just dismissed by Evan as simply a hallucination that I had in my drugged state. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed or elated when Evan implied that it didn't happen.

Somehow, somewhere in my mind – perhaps I dreamt it – was a memory of the two of us in the darkness of our apartment, stumbling about, with me laughing myself silly. We hadn't quite made it into my room when I collapsed onto his warm, firm body, my own not quite strong enough to keep up. He grumbled for a moment before he lifted me off my feet, finishing the final stretch to my bed and laying me down onto the softness and the comfort of the mattress. I vaguely remembered a short pause as we stared into each other's eyes in the darkness, his face blurry in my vision, before he tried to undress me. I must've found that funny or something, because I heard myself laughing – something which he responded with a silent glare. It was then that I noticed how close his face was to mine.

And I simply closed the gap between us, my hands reaching for the back of his head as I hastily took his lips into mine. I thought I remembered how they felt – soft, hot and tender. I thought I remembered how his body melded into mine, as if he couldn't get enough of the kiss as well. I thought I remembered how my tongue curiously explored his mouth, and how he returned my curiosity with his own. I also thought I remembered him pulling away suddenly, shocked at himself, and rushing away from me in a flurry as I lay back onto the bed, blacking out and into sleep. It all felt so real, and all so beautiful, and I really wished that it was real, that it really happened.

Except Evan had said that nothing had happened. I didn't do anything weird, or anything stupid, and so all that – the wonderful kiss, the wonderful touch – was all but a dream, or but a figment of my silly imagination.

* * *

We hadn't returned to the beach since the party on the Fourth of July, and it wasn't by choice, either. Ever since the incident with another partygoer overdosing on some drug happened, the security's been tightened and inquiries have been made. Many of the regulars at the beach scattered off elsewhere temporarily to wait until the entire thing blows over, and that included us, too. After all, there was little to almost no reason to hang around after Diane resigned from her little side-job at the beach bar. Alex and David preferred to be around their sister, and without her around at the beach bar or even at the beach meant that they stopped hanging around the beach until things became a lot less tense there. For the rest of us, we simply followed suit.

Marcel and Scott weren't quite up to giving up the fun in the last legs of summer. A week or so after the party, they began plotting again, looking for some way to have fun and gather the group once again for a final time before we all went back to school or work.

I had come back from a general check-up one afternoon, bummed out after the optician that checked on my eyes declared that I was short-sighted and needed to wear glasses – _desperately_. I protested and tried to worm my way out of it, saying that it wasn't all that bad and I could still see fine, but nothing would stop him and he wrote out a prescription for an assistant, demanding that I come back after my round of check-ups to put the glasses on and truly see how short-sighted I was. He was right – after all the other physicians determined that I was in great health, I returned to him, sighed, and tried on my new pair of glasses made at top speed in a handful of hours. My vision instantly became clearer and sharper, and at the same time, my head spun a little from the sudden clarity that it struggled to adjust to. I gripped the sides of my glasses, ready to rip it off, but he demanded that I keep them on and only take them off when I honestly felt dizzy. He said I had to get used to it – after all, I was quite short-sighted. I blamed my reading habits, my writing habits, my gaming habits, and my stupidity all in one go on my way back.

I returned to the apartment then, fully expecting to have some peace and quiet and some rest time to myself. My hopes were instantly dashed the moment I shut the door and Marcel and Scott's voice instantly reached me as they shouted in unison –

"JONATHAN!"

As soon as I turned around, their yell died down and turned into howls of loud laughter as they pointed at my now-bespectacled face. I could've blushed, but after nearly two months of their antics, I merely sighed and settled down in the space on the couch that they made for me.

"How did you guys get in here?" I asked, exasperation easily seeping into my tone. Somehow, I already knew the answer, and I wasn't at all surprised when they told me that it was Evan who let them in.

"What's so funny?" Evan's voice sounded out as the sliding doors to the balcony slid open. Instinctively, I turned to look for the source of his voice.

The moment he saw my face, he knew, and a soft chuckle left his lips even before he realized it. I groaned.

"Alright, I'll take it off, it looks fucking stupid…"

I was almost too eager to pull the stupid glasses off my face. But even then, the damage was already done. The guys were all in hysterics, and that annoyingly charming smile on Evan's face just would not come off.

"Go on, laugh," I egged him on. "It looked fucking stupid."

"Not really." Evan said as he shut the sliding door behind him, wiping off the droplets of water from his time in the pool off his bare chest. "Actually, it's not even surprising given how much time you spend writing in that secretive book of yours in the dark."

I felt Scott and Marcel gaze at me once more, their eyes boring holes into me, and somehow, I knew exactly what was on their mind.

"Don't you bitches dare," I warned, narrowing my eyes into slits.

"DIBS!" They both yelled at the same time, quickly getting up and attempting to manoeuvre over the couch. Scott hopped over the back of the couch gracefully, whilst Marcel rushed around the side towards the door that led to my room. Panic set in instantly, and I tried to give chase by hopping over the back of the couch as well, but I evidently wasn't as agile as Scott was. Instead of cleanly hopping over the couch, I tripped and landed on my chest on the ground - at least, I expected to. The instant I felt my foot get caught on the couch, I shut my eyes and braced myself for impact. There was none.

Instead, I landed on something warm and soft, yet firm. Slowly, I opened my eyes, only to see tanned skin before me.

"Real smooth," Evan chuckled, as he released me slightly, helping me back onto my feet. I felt my cheeks burn - it was the closest I'd ever been to him since the Fourth, and it also didn't help that the stupid crush that I had on him wasn't fading in the least bit. The both of us fell into a stunned, awkward silence, a silence broken mere seconds later by Scott and Marcel's screaming.

"FOUND IT!" Scott hollered, stumbling out of my room triumphantly as Marcel trailed grouchily behind him. He raised his arms above him, and my journal - this very same journal - was in his hands.

Evan, however, wasted no time. As soon as Scott paraded his loot before us, Evan made his way towards Scott and grabbed my journal out of his hands. I felt strangely relieved that it was in his hands - but perhaps that was just me trusting him.

"Okay, enough. Don't you guys have something else to do?" He chided.

"But it's the last bit of summer," Marcel whined.

"And we're bored." Scott chimed in.

Evan sighed in mock exasperation. "The beach is kind of out of bounds now but it doesn't mean you guys can't have fun here, does it? You guys have a pool, we have a pool, we gather all our food and drinks, bring some entertainment and we get the gang to come along, and there's your fun."

Their faces began to light up as the idea slowly unfolded before their eyes. Evan began to grin as well, and started again.

"But," he continued, "Condition is, you guys clean up after your messes and give us our privacy where it needs to be at. That means no stealing or peeking into Jonathan's diary without his permission, curious as you are. Deal?"

A short pause.

"Deal." Marcel spoke up first.

And there the Friday night party was formed. That night was the very first night, with Marcel and Scott running off straight after that to prepare and make calls for everybody to come over and hang out. It was the first time we'd ever done something like that, and things were a little awkward and shaky at first, but it made a good start for something new - and something that we'd decided at the end of the night to make it weekly (and if not weekly, fortnightly).

That night, Evan knocked on my door, both of us worn out from the partying and the cleaning.

"Hey," he greeted.

I returned his greeting. "Hey yourself."

"Tired?"

"Yeah. I didn't… think that I'd become a party-boy. I was a - what d'you call it - a party pooper most of the time."

He laughed softly. "Well, you'll have to live with it for a bit. The L.A. crowd loves these things. But I need to return you your book before I turn in myself."

He held out my journal that he had quite fortunately snatched from Scott's hands that afternoon. It looked untouched, without a thing out of place. However, I still frowned in suspicion. As much as I trusted Evan, I had written some incriminating things in there that I did not want him to read.

"Don't worry, I didn't even look," he assured. "I'm not one to pry into people's secrets unless they're willing to tell me themselves. Take good care of those written secrets, will you?"

I smirked. "You're another one to call the stuff I write that."

He paused, and glanced back at me incredulously.

"My family calls the little notes I leave around 'written secrets'."

"Oh." He stood there silently for a moment, before adding, "Well, I guess you can add your diary to the list."

He turned and shut my door, leaving me in my room alone with my own journal. My secrets were still safe, it seemed, and so I flipped the pages open, pulling out my pen set that I brought along from North Carolina, and decided to pen another entry in, immortalizing another part of my first summer here in California with my very first memory of the Friday night party.

* * *

 _Welcome back to me puking on my keyboard! First off, sorry for the very long wait! Secondly, I really hope that even through the mess that I've made out of this story, you guys can still enjoy this. I have some ideas that I have been playing with that should come up in the later portions of the story, but it'll be some time before those things come to fruition so I do hope everybody can understand! I really do hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I really hope I can churn out another one soon! (And if I don't, I hope I can keep everybody entertained with other things!) -delmin_


	4. Month of Ripples

School has finally begun! I wasn't quite sure if I thought of school as a horror or as something exciting and fascinating to look forward too, but in retrospect, I think it's a combination of both, along with the other events that have happened since then.

The end of the summer wasn't quite as clean as I thought it would've been. Even now, the remnants of summer still show itself every once in a while, with small waves of heat coming about every now and then, sending everybody indoors and into shelter. For the bunch of us that have begun gathering at the apartments and making full use of the pools and the corridor that connected the two apartments, it didn't quite matter as long as the Friday night parties were on. It was everything to look forward to in every week, no matter how horrible or how exciting the week went. We'd all gather together and spill our guts about whatever had happened, whilst drinking ourselves silly and filling our stomachs with whatever food everybody brings along or orders (usually pizza). It was only when Mrs. Sandler got annoyed with the weekly pizza orders that she came to us one Friday and almost yelled –

"Enough with the pizzas already! That was the third pizza delivery man that came tonight!"

I had to smile sheepishly at her. "Sorry 'bout that."

"The entire corridor even _smells_ of pizza!" She waved her arms about, gesturing around us both. "Any more and I can't even come up to this floor without thinking about pizza!"

Evan, who had been over at Scott and Marcel's apartment practically abusing their new game system with them, poked his head out just then.

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Sandler," he apologized smoothly, charm dripping from every last word he spoke. "And I'm also sorry about the noise every Friday night. I'm the one who came up with the terrible idea, so if anything, I claim full responsibility for this."

The thin line that Mrs. Sandler's lips had curved into eased itself slowly as Evan spoke. "Look," she finally said, "I don't have a problem with you kids partying your Friday nights away. But for the love of God, don't you kids have any other tastes other than _pizza_?"

"It's…good." I murmured softly, hoping silently that Mrs. Sandler didn't hear my little comment.

"Good?" She asked, incredulous. "I swear to God, I make better pizzas than this rubbish. If that's _good_ , then how about I make you boys your pizzas for your parties then?"

The corner of her lips was twitching, as if threatening to break out into one of those brilliant smiles I'd seen quite a few times.

"Was that a request to join in, Mrs. Sandler?" Evan asked, a brilliant smile of his own forming on his own face.

"Not quite," she said brusquely, her grin betraying her tone. "I was asking if I could bring food for you boys… and join in if I felt like it."

And that was how Mrs. Sandler eventually also became a part of our Friday night club.

But the first Friday party, the very first Friday of the month was by far the highlight of the month. Everybody was there – not just me and Evan and Scott and Marcel, but also our friends from the beach and some of their friends as well. Just as the pools and most of Scott and Marcel's apartment were readily being assaulted by the partygoers, the three of us found solace in drinking together on the rooftop after getting the green light from Mrs. Sandler to climb up there (at our own risk). All of a sudden, in that moment, it felt like my first moments in my new apartment all over again, with the two idiots that so warmly welcomed me into a new home and a new place. The group would have probably been more complete with Evan, but it seemed as if he had someone else to be busy about.

"Evan and Alex, eh?" Marcel laughed, stealing a sideways glance at me.

"Aw, come on," I replied as coolly as I could. "It's not that surprising. Anyone could tell from the way they looked at each other since that time at the beach that they have the hots for each other."

"Pfffffft." Scott scoffed. "As if the son of a bitch doesn't have enough going on already. Hockey and school is already enough to stop us from seeing him for, what, the whole week? And now he's spending _our_ Friday with his girl. Not that I don't like Alex, but damn, there should be a limit to this."

"Scott…" I tried to retaliate, weakly.

"Shut up, bitch, you know it's true. You've just started school and you already have to spend the whole fucking week alone in your own apartment."

"Watching shitty films." Marcel added, and poked me sharply in the side with the mouth of his emptied bottle. "Honestly, why the fuck did you decide to do that shitty ass course?"

"It's not shitty," I bit back, silently happy that Marcel changed the subject. "I like it."

Scott snorted, and reached out to ruffle my hair roughly. "Whatever. Sounds like shit to us. If you ever change your mind and decide to do something like actually _make_ films instead, you're always welcome to join me and Marcel. Hell, we'll even lend you all our equipment and whatever help you'll need."

"I'll stick to what I like and what I do best, thank you very much."

"Like I said, whatever, fuck-boy."

"Don't call me a fuck-boy."

My reply was met with a soft laugh, and all fell silent as the three of us drank in the moonlight, drowning whatever feelings and frustrations we'd had over the week – not that I had many. My first week was by and far smooth-sailing… except when I'd come back to an eerily silent apartment, with nobody to share the space with except myself. Those nights, it would always feel as if all the warmth and connection and bonds that I'd built with Evan had loosened and broken off, and it would feel as if we were further away than ever. I'd almost not seen him the entire week until he'd turned up that Friday evening for the party with Alex, wearing an expression so casual and so normal as if nothing had happened at all and that he had seen me every single day of the week. The pang of loneliness that'd hit me then never seemed to leave me despite how much I swam and how many drinks I'd downed in the apartment. With Scott and Marcel on the breezy rooftop, however, it all seemed entirely different. It seemed there was nothing that cold alcohol, a great scene and great friends could solve.

The three of us remained silently on the rooftop, drinking to our heart's content until Evan popped his head through the trapdoor that we had climbed through to access the rooftop.

"Ah, you guys really are here," he grinned, and pulled his muscular body through the trapdoor. "I've been looking for you guys for quite some time now, and then Mrs. Sandler told me you guys were probably up here."

"What're you doing here? Go back and play with Alex." Scott retorted, a tiny hint of annoyance evident in his tone.

"It's a little too crowded back there to," Evan replied, almost oblivious to Scott's piercing tone. "Besides, she wanted to have some time own her own to have a one-to-one talk with Craig and make it clear that she doesn't feel anything for him."

"Who?" I asked.

"Remember that guy singing at the 4th of July party?" Evan turned towards me, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips as I slowly nodded through the hazy memories. "That's Craig. Has a huge crush on Alex, and she knows it, too, but she never could quite find a way to shake him off properly. It's a pity, though, he seems like quite the guy."

"But," he continued after a short pause, "I guess it's better this way, too, isn't it?"

"I suppose." I shrugged, and stretched myself out stiffly, turning my gaze towards the starry night sky. I wasn't quite that interested in listening about Evan and Alex's relationship or whatever problems might come with it, but I wanted to _try_. I admit, I'm not the happiest about them being together, and even a part of me would say that I feel like I've almost _lost_ Evan to Alex, but I wanted to be happy for them. I _wanted_ to be happy for them and help them, but I could never lie to myself and say that I wholeheartedly support their relationship. The best I could do then was to just pretend like I did, and push myself to care just a little bit.

"By the way, Mrs. Sandler also says there seems like there's a pretty huge package for you, and wants me to tell you to go pick it up from her after all this ends."

"Oh-kay." I said simply, and took another sip from my bottle, feeling the cold rush of heat down my throat as the night sky blurred a bit more in front of my eyes.

"And…" Evan began once more, sounding almost mildly uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Brandon's been looking around for you."

"Oh." I tried to sound calm, but God knows that probably flew out of the window the moment I opened my mouth. I hadn't seen Brandon for some time then, and my heart leapt ever so slightly at the thought of him. After all, _he was at the party_. And above it all, of all people, _he was looking for me_. Forget my discomfort at the thought of Alex and Evan dating each other, _Brandon was looking for me_.

"I'll go look for him, then," I added, barely able to keep the excitement out of my voice. _Brandon was looking for me. Brandon. The real-life personification of the hero of my stories, my 'Grant'._

My excitement wasn't quite shared by my companions. A stiff expression had glued itself to Evan's face, whilst Scott and Marcel scowled at the mention of Brandon. It was apparent they hadn't quite gotten over their animosity over the guy, and I wasn't quite sure why. But I couldn't care less what they thought about Brandon. _He was looking for me. Of all people. Me!_

And so without much regrets or even a single look behind, I left my three close friends on the rooftop. It wasn't too long after I got back to the apartment areas that Brandon caught up to me, a dazzling smile upon his face, one that made me think about the stars on the night sky above us all.

"Hey," he greeted me cheerfully. "It's been some time since I'd seen you around. I dare say I missed you."

"R-really?" _Move, you stupid mouth_.

"Yeah." His smile widened. "You're the most interesting guy I've met so far. Every now and then I'll catch my thoughts wandering over to you, and I'll keep wondering how you're doing, how you've been since our times at the beach… and then I start wondering how you're like."

I simply gaped, not quite sure what to say. I wasn't sure if I was about to hear a confession of sorts, and I barely knew the guy beyond our short little acquaintance at the beach. But if anything, he looked too good and too charming whilst spilling his guts about how he missed me.

"What I'm saying is, Jonathan… I'm interested in being friends with you. I want to know more about you. I want to know what makes you smile, beyond beautiful sunsets. I want to know what makes you laugh, and what makes you go wild. I know, maybe you already think we're friends, what with the time we spent with Alex and all the rest, but what I mean is that I'm interested in being friends with you, on a very personal basis. I want to _know_ you, Jonathan. I want to _know_ you, just me and you."

A small silence fell between us as he finished. No matter how he put it, and no matter what words he used, the way he spoke almost seemed as if it was an invitation into a special, exclusive relationship with him.

"You… sure have a way of putting things."

His smile turned into a very mild smirk. "It's the only way I think you'll understand. I don't just want to be friends the way everybody says friends are. I don't want to just know you, I want to know you down to your depths. That's the sort of friends I want to be with you, you interesting man."

"I get that, but how is that different from being… just friends?"

With a step, he closed in on me, erasing much of the distance between us before. The air grew hot, sweltering hot, and I felt the blood rush towards my cheeks involuntarily.

"Believe me, Jonathan, the difference is immense to me. So what say you, Jonathan?"

With the breath completely drawn from my lungs, I simply nodded. I still couldn't quite see why he had to _ask_ to be friends, but I couldn't see anything terrible in it either. Besides, I had more in mind than simply being friends after being propositioned in such an irresistible manner. His eyes seemed to devour mine, and the tone he spoke in seemed to make my knees grow weak. The effect of alcohol on my system was also undoubtedly enhancing his power over me. I would've begged him to date me right there and then if I hadn't managed to grasp onto my senses.

"Since that's the case…" He continued with a cheeky grin. "You wouldn't mind being the subject of my next photography project, would you? I find that one of the best ways to learn more about a person is through my lens. And the best ways people learn about me…is to work with me."

As if someone had thrown a rock at me, I jumped to my senses sharply. "Sub-subject…?! Model?!"

Brandon let out a small chuckle, evidently amused at my shock. "Yes, Jonathan, _model._ I'm interested in having you in my lens at least once. We'll get to know each other better."

"But I –"

"Don't worry too much about it. If it's experience you're worried about, you don't need to do anything that the pros do. Just be yourself. The camera doesn't have eyes – it's just going to be interactions between me and you."

"But…" I protested emptily. To be quite frank, I hadn't much for protest against.

"It's fine if you don't want to do it. I'd just like you to give it some thought." He dug through his pockets and pulled out a card, before thrusting it in my hands.

"It's a good way to further our friendship. You don't really dislike the idea, I can tell. You're just not ready for it – so, when you're ready, give me a call, and I'll set a date with you. Just me and you. A _heart to heart_ , if you will."

I stared after him as he left, strutting away from me in his charmingly confident manner.

As Brandon left, it seemed that many amongst us decided to call it a night as well. It was as if he brought the crowd with him wherever he went, and everybody fluttered to him like moths to a bright, bright light. I would have been one of those moths, if I weren't caught between multiple sources of bright lights. As wonderful as Brandon was, he seemed so incredibly out of reach at times.

I finally got around to collecting the package I'd gotten from Mrs. Sandler and was heading back to the apartment to find the front door only slightly agape. My hands full with the large, heavy, and rather worn-down box that Luke sent, I attempted to kick the door open with my foot – only to find it stuck and unmovable.

"Evan?" I called out, my hands aching and about to give way.

A voice came from behind the door.

"Sorry. I'm cleaning up at the moment, so you'll have to make do."

I would've protested at that point, and should have protested – but I didn't. For some reason, whatever protests I had simply dissolved into nothingness, and I decided to solve things all on my own. In that one moment, even though I knew exactly what was in the box, and I knew how precious and how sacred they were to me, I couldn't care less about its value. And so I simply decided to force my way through, and force the flimsy box through the tiny gap – an act that became something I regretted almost immediately as the run-down box tore and split in its side, with all its contents spilling to the ground at the doorway of our apartment.

What came first was a sea of white. A sea of off-white papers flooding out from the bottom of the dumb box, page after page, year after year of my painstaking work, night after night of scribbling away furiously on pieces of paper and emptying all of my thoughts and feelings onto them. Page after page of the manuscript for the _Gold_ series cascaded onto the ground, each filled with all the time I'd spent feeling, writing, loving and hurting.

What followed was a barrage of hard plastic. CD cases of my favorite games came crashing towards the ground, alongside some statues and figurines that I had managed to get my hands on. As they landed on the ground with hard, solid thuds, I silently hoped in my head that nothing had broken, and that Luke's packing for such fragile and precious items would have saved them from the fall somewhat. Alongside all this, a couple of pieces of suspicious fabric fell out – some shirts, and _underwear_.

There I stood, embarrassed and anxious out of my mind, yet rooted onto the ground in shock in the wake of the disaster, with my possessions scattered across the ground by the doorway and Evan crouched just slightly in front of me behind the door, shocked and quite unsure what to do.

It took a short pause before he jumped to action, apologizing profusely.

"Sorry! I should've moved," he groaned, and hurriedly rushed at the mess before us, grabbing at whatever he could find. "It's okay, I'll clean this up for you."

Hastily, he reached out towards the pile of papers that were the closest by him. It took me only a split-second to stop him from touching it, a split second for my voice to come gurgling out of my throat in a desperate attempt to stop him.

A split second too late.

The moment he laid his eyes on the first page that lay at the top of the pile, he paused in his tracks, his fingers hovering only very slightly above the accursed piece of paper. Even before he said anything, even before he moved or reacted to what he saw, all the worries about my figurines breaking and all the annoyance at the situation that I was in gave way to distress. Even before I knew what was going on in his head, I already sensed it all – the questions, the curiosity, the confusion. An overwhelming sense of dread filled every particle of my body as I saw him still for a protracted period of time, reading the words on the page, the very words that enticed millions of people into my world ten years ago, the very words that opened the first book of the _Gold_ series.

Evan slowly lifted his head after what felt like forever, and in his eyes were countless questions that I could not answer, and daren't answer.

Was I willing to give up my anonymity as Sid Rouile for him? I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure if I even trusted him with my secret. I wasn't sure if I could tell him everything he wanted to know and satisfy his curiosity once and for all. I wasn't sure what I'd say.

"Johna-…" He began, and trailed off almost as soon as he did. I watched as the disbelief flickered in his eyes.

"You… this… you copied all of this, right?" He started once more, voice shaking slightly, unsure, uncertain. A nervous laugh came from the depths of his chest as he spoke. "I mean… You must've really liked him, right…? He's a… a really good writer…"

I hated myself for not thinking properly at that point of time. I didn't deny it, nor did I confirm it, and I just stood there, barely getting any proper words out, before hurriedly attempting to gather up as many things as I could gather back into the broken box. I wasn't sure if I even managed to get everything in or if I had left anything behind (I'd come out to check the next morning and found nothing left behind). All I knew was panic, and the fact that as I walked away, I caught a glimpse of Evan's widened eyes, and in the one small glimpse I had the feeling that he knew. It was the last time I'd properly met his eyes, and since then, we'd barely greet each other in passing, and as soon as the stifling, awkward tension starts bubbling to the surface, I would leave the apartment, running off to school to bury myself in my studies and half-heartedly listen to the professor drone on about things that I was supposed to care about.

* * *

I'd forgotten how long it's been since me and Evan stopped talking to each other. What was supposed to be days felt like weeks and months, and over some time I forgot entirely how long it had been. I'd ungraciously zoned out in class after class, that the one of the guys that seemed to be taking multiple classes with me had to nudge me gently in the middle of it all and whisper –

"Hey, did you hear what he said?"

I blinked stupidly and shook my head.

He shook his head disapprovingly. "Prof said there'd be a pop quiz tomorrow on the past week's topics. Old guy isn't giving us a break, is he?"

More stupid blinking on my end. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to believe that straight off the bat – I'd had my fair share of school pranks.

Almost as if he heard my thoughts, he slouched slightly into his seat, a look of disappointment growing on his charming face. "Oh come on, I'm not like that. I'm not going to lie to you. Besides, you're the only one that takes the same classes as I do and doesn't call me Carlos."

I didn't remember his name, and I felt terrible for it. With a slight peek at whatever he had on his table, I tried to recover smoothly from my humongous blunder.

"Why would anybody call you Carlos, _Arlan_?"

He burst out into a brilliant smile. "Because… that's the first name I introduced myself with. _As a joke_. But then nobody remembered the rest and just called me Carlos. And you don't remember because you were dazed out of your mind half the time thinking about something else. I'm surprised you even remember my name."

"Arlan is a nice name."

Arlan flushed deeply, his light olive skin reddening violently, almost as if I'd paid him a great compliment. He turned back to face the screen once more, attempting focus on the lecture, only to have a very slight smile interrupting his concentration every now and then. I smiled slightly to myself, happy enough to have somewhat made a friend and dodged a bit of a bullet at that point of time.

But even so, the problem of Evan still hung over me. I simply went back to being distracted and detached from the class, almost paying no attention at all to the lecturer. It took a couple more nudges at the end of the class from Arlan for me to snap back to reality and to head out of the classroom, and a handful more nudges for me to remember that I didn't have any more classes for the rest of the day.

"Are you always this distracted?" He asked as we stood by the bus-stop, waiting for a bus home. "Or is something troubling you?"

I sighed. I briefly considered if I should let out all my personal problems to this new acquaintance of mine, only for him to smile at me and reassure me that it was okay.

"I… I kept a secret or two from this friend of mine. And I don't know if he's mad at me. But we haven't talked since and it's been really awkward."

"Hmm." Arlan pondered aloud, raising a brow as he did. "Is it a good friend?"

"…Kind of. We're roommates. He's been really, really nice."

"Then are you _interested_ in being good friends?"

"Yeah. Sure. It'd be nice. Really nice."

Arlan fell quiet for a moment, thinking, before he started once more. "Then I think you guys should talk about it. Like… why you did it, how he feels about it, things like that. If he's mad about it, then I don't think he should stay angry too long. If he's as nice as you say he is, he'll understand if you explain it to him, right? Besides, it's not like friends shouldn't have some secrets. As long as it's not a bad secret. We all deserve some privacy sometimes, no?"

I snorted. "Funny."

He'd caught in on the irony in the moment, and laughed sheepishly. "Hey, I mean – it's fine if you keep secrets from me. I'll still be curious, but I won't force you to tell me anything you don't want to tell me!"

I had to laugh. It was nice having a new friend in school, even if I wasn't particularly close to Arlan yet. I was almost never alone in this new life of mine – something that I wasn't quite sure I totally enjoyed, but I wasn't quite sure that I totally hated it either. It did, however, bring about some new feelings of pleasantry that I hadn't had the chance to experience back home. I never realized how quiet my life had been for the past ten years, and how much I _also_ enjoyed a life that wasn't that quiet.

Not long after Arlan and I parted ways and I made my way home, I returned into the apartment – quieter than ever. Scott and Marcel were still at school, Evan was missing in action as was his usual behavior for the past week or so, and I had the place all to myself. I'd just laid my body out on the couch, about to lazily spend the rest of my day being absolutely lazy when a buzz from my mobile phone sent me flying up into a sitting position.

"Hello?" I eagerly answered.

"Hey," a smooth, familiar voice came from the other end. "Did you think about my little offer?"

I swallowed. Alongside the problem of Evan, the problem of Brandon swam about in my head, the causes for my lack of sleep. The truth was, I _did_ think about Brandon's offer. I thought about it so much that my head hurt and that I decided to think about the what had happened with Evan some more.

"Not really," I admitted. "Haven't had the chance to."

The voice on the other end let out a smooth, creamy chuckle. "Alright. No pressure."

A short pause ensued – but I felt far from awkward. Instead, a small smile crept onto my lips slowly, irresistibly, and automatically. I almost didn't want the call to end. Heck, I almost didn't want the moment to end.

"I guess… that's that. I'll talk to you later, then."

"W- Wait!" I blurted out, unwilling it to end it all. "Er… how did you get my number?"

Brandon let out another suave laugh, and began again, his tone teasing and playful. " _You_ gave it to me, remember? All the way back then?"

"Ah."

"I'll tell you what," he murmured softly with an almost seductive purr in his voice. "Whenever you feel lonely, or you wanna talk to somebody…give me a call, won't you? I miss your voice every day, you know that?"

I could almost feel his warm, tall form beside me, leaning down from behind me to whisper into my ear, his hot breath brushing against my ears and sending sharp, tingly feelings down my front and throughout the rest of my body. I liked it. I really, really _liked_ it. Yet, the face that I pictured wasn't Brandon's. It was someone that looked quite impressively like him – and I never realized just how much before. It was Evan's lips that breathed near me, and it was Evan's face that leaned in in my dumb imagination and gently kissed my earlobe. I gasped sharply, yet softly, and forced the thought out of my head. _Brandon_ , I tried to think. _It's Brandon. Not Evan_.

"Is something wrong?" Brandon pressed on.

"Nothing," I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible. _Brandon_ , I repeated in my head. _I'm talking to him right now, not Evan_.

Brandon sighed softly. "The way you put it, I _wish_ it were something. You can be so painfully expressive…so much that I _wish_ …"

He sighed once more. "Never mind, I guess. Anyway… when can I see you again, just me and you?"

"That… I don't know. Classes haven't started for too long and I… I've been doing a whole bunch of things." _A whole bunch of worrying about me and Evan, that is_. I felt my heart throb again.

"Aw," Brandon breathed, the disappointment evident in his tone. "I suppose… we'll see as we go along…"

In that moment, the door clicked and opened, and Evan strode in slowly, head hung as if he barely wanted to look at me. I don't know what got into me next. For some reason, I forgot completely that _he_ was supposed to be the one that was angry. Instead, I was. Stung by his seemingly cold behavior towards me, I grew irritated at his reaction towards seeing me (despite the fact that _I_ was the one who avoided him). I made sure to practically announce my next line to Brandon as loud as possible –

"Actually, I can make time to see you, if you – if you want. It's not like I have people to hang out with after school. At least – _nobody that_ _seems to care_."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Evan's figure still by the doorway.

Brandon chuckled. "Don't force yourself, babe. Gimme a call when you're good and I'll pop around to see you, just me and you."

Another pause, before he spoke up abruptly once more.

"Well, I gotta run. I believe I'll catch you soon… in a less satisfying setting for me. 'Til then…!"

The line went dead, and everything was silent once more.

"Who was that?" Evan murmured softly, coldly.

"None of your business." I bit back as I stood from the sofa, legs aching to make a mad dash towards my room.

"Yeah, I guessed about much. And you accuse me of not caring."

"I'm going to bed." I began to move, only for Evan to stop me in my tracks with his huge frame, my face only inches from his muscular chest.

"No you're not. You're going to hide from me more and avoid ever talking to me again about what happened. You don't even want to look at me right now."

"That's not – that's not…"

His long fingers traced along my jawline with surprising gentility. As his hand found my chin, he tilted my head upwards, forcing my reluctant eyes to meet his.

"We haven't spoken since that night. You haven' looked me in the eye for a single moment since. You keep running away from me and avoiding me and I don't know why," he sighed.

I quietly wondered then if I had assessed the situation wrongly the whole time. Evan's eyes reflected not anger but sadness and disappointment. I felt his thumb caress my chin gently for a few moments, before he released me quietly.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out almost automatically. "I shouldn't have – I don't know…"

"There I was, thinking about why you wouldn't tell anybody – not even me. Did I not matter enough to you? Did you not trust me? Was I simply not good enough…?" Evan croaked sorrowfully, his questions not seeking an answer.

"That's not it! I –"

"And then… do you want to know something at the cost of a little bit of our friendship?" Evan asked with a slight smile, expression tinged with guilt. "When I said I wouldn't look at your diary, I lied. A little. I couldn't figure out why I meant so little to you. I thought I'd get some answers since you didn't want to talk to me… but the first few pages of your diary told me a whole new story."

I didn't quite know what to feel at that revelation. Strangely enough, I wasn't mad. I was not in the least bit agitated by what he had done, or by his words. Instead, I felt oddly vindicated – as if I'd been waiting for him to do so. I wondered quietly as well if he knew what I felt about him, and how strangely I felt about him. I wondered if he had read everything, and realized everything that I never told him.

"I didn't read everything, of course. That'd be rude," Evan continued. "But I think I understand. You as a writer, you as somebody who just wants to be… _you_. You just wanted to be _Jonathan_ , and I understand that."

"No – look," I finally spoke up, unwilling to let Evan continue on. He was far too understanding and far too agreeable. He was handling it all so perfectly, and I simply couldn't let him. I wanted to be a part of it. For some reason, I wanted to do it just like how he did. I wanted to stop being Jonathan for a moment – _that_ Jonathan that ran away from everything, _that_ Jonathan that tried to pretend everything would be fine. Evan wanted to confront something, and for the first time in a while, I wanted to confront something, too.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't say a thing about it before, I'm sorry I didn't even talk to you about it after that. I thought you'd be mad at me – mad at me for hiding it from you and all that."

"I _was_ , at first. But I can't stay angry for long. Especially not at you."

A warm silence fell upon us. For the first time in a while, the heavy covers that threw themselves upon my heart lifted. Everything felt so silly, so trivial. A part of me didn't understand what just happened or why it happened. Another part of me was just happy to have gotten it all over with. A very small part of me wondered childishly if Evan was some angel that magically made things happen so strangely and so smoothly.

"So…" Evan pulled a shit-eating grin. "Can I have your autograph?"

* * *

It's been a million and one questions since then. How I came up with the stories, the inspiration for it all, the whole deal. Evan had seemed so excited about every single detail about Sid Rouile and how I came to be him. Every day there would be something that would pique his interest about what I'd written, and every day there seems to be something new he'd want to know. For some strange reason, he'd taken an entirely new level of interest in me. We were new friends all over again, covering new ground and recovering lost ground at the same time.

What I should've learnt is that happiness is always short-lived. Whenever I was happy – absolutely overjoyed – for a prolonged period in my life, it always meant that I would crash to the ground _hard_. The happier I was, the worse I felt when the brief euphoria passed – and I would be overtaken by anhedonia. Joy would be harder to find, pleasure would be harder to seek. But no matter how many times I was happy, and no matter how many times I had my happiness ruined by a series of misfortune that would bring my mood down, I never quite seemed to learn. I would just happily hop off my misery again and again, unafraid and undeterred by what had happened, and I would fly freely, unrestrained, up to cloud nine.

I rarely got to see Evan in school. It was to be expected, either way – we were in entirely different courses, studying entirely different things. I didn't even get to share a single class with him. Instead, I got to spend my days in school with Arlan. It wasn't a step down from spending time with, say, Evan, Scott or Marcel, but Arlan was… _different_. The moment I walked into the first class every day, he would smile at me as if I was his favorite person in the entire world. Whilst his brilliant smiles often lit up my day, and his listening ear was always immensely appreciated, his attention was often directed very specifically at me with a very strange undertone. Still, I liked the guy. He was a great friend through and through, putting up with my troublesome nature. I just wasn't sure if I could take anything beyond that.

But I digress, as I have time and again. I rarely got to see Evan in school. But one day as the month began to near its end, Evan turned up in my path. It was an occurrence that I could never foresee or even expect because it was just so unlikely – but it happened. It was also when my descent back to earth began.

"Jonathan!" He yelled, waving at me from the distance. Eyes turned to gaze at me. More eyes turned towards Evan and the glory that he stood in.

"Who's that?" Arlan whispered.

"My… roommate…" I slowly replied, trying to comprehend the situation as Evan strutted towards me. _What in the world_ …?

"Hi Jonathan's roommate," Arlan greeted.

"Uhm, hi. It's Evan, by the way."

"Hi Evan," Arlan greeted once more, extending his hand out for a shake. "Arlan."

"Hi Arlan. Nice to meet you." Evan beamed with that killer smile of his, taking my soul away from me once more. At some point in their introductions, he'd reached out and grabbed me by the arm, dragging my half-soulless body towards him.

"Actually, we've got to run."

"We…have..?" I asked stupidly.

"Yeah we do," Evan responded.

"Where?" I asked again, feeling dumber than ever.

"To see everyone."

His answer wasn't quite an answer. Instead, it raised more questions within me. All I could do, however, was to simply stare at Evan incredulously as my soul finally came back to me fully.

It was Arlan that spoke up next. His demeanor had now shifted, and although his smile was still as wide as ever and his outward behavior was still as welcoming as it had always been, but something had changed. The passion that had always colored his face when he was around me slightly died down a little, and he seemed a bit more withdrawn. If there was anything I learnt about Arlan from being beside him so much within a month, it was that he knew how to turn many downs into ups, and when he couldn't, he hid it cheerfully enough. And it was clear as day to me that Arlan was disappointed. Sure, he hid his disappointment underneath his sincere smile – but it was still there, and rather apparent in his eyes.

"Oh – uh – it's fine if you have to go somewhere," he announced to both of us cheerily. "I have a class later anyway, so I'll be fine on my own. I guess I'll see you both around."

Arlan turned quickly on his heel and left, and I stared at his back as he sped away at a surprising speed.

"I think he likes you," Evan breathed once Arlan was out of earshot. "In _that_ sort of way."

"D'you think so?" I moaned, refusing to believe my own ears. Even Evan thought so. Perhaps what I'd sensed wasn't that wild or that untrue after all – and that fact bothered me even more.

"He looks at you like… like he could kiss you any moment." Evan chuckled. "But he tries to hide it anyway, poor guy. Probably thinks he has no chance with you."

"Which would be the truth," I sighed. "Enough about me and him, what about you? What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Like I said. We're going to see everyone."

"But – for what? Why? And why didn't – why didn't you guys ask me first or tell me beforehand? And why the heck do you have to be here to go with me?"

He hesitated before me, trying to find words that weren't there. "Because… I never get to see you in school…And… uh…"

I raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Spit it out."

"Okay, fine, I just wanted to see you. And I wanted to go there together with you. And I wanted to spend some time alone with my idol before we get swarmed with people. And above all… I was kind of curious to see if you were fine. You never tell me about what happens in class or how you're doing, I actually got a little worried that you didn't have anyone."

"And all my other questions?"

Evan pondered for a bit. "Alex is going back to Ireland soon for school. And she kind of... didn't want to think about it for the longest time, so it's pretty sudden. Nobody really got informed until this morning. It's not really a farewell party, but more like a farewell getaway. Not to say that there's no party – there will be tomorrow night before she flies back. But from now until then, she wants to spend as much time as possible with all of us."

"It's not like I –" I began to protest, but Evan shut me up quickly enough.

"Let it be, okay? This is what _Alex_ wants."

For a moment, Evan looked almost perfectly serious. He wasn't exactly smiling, nor was he stern – but his words were like a dagger that he stabbed straight through me. In that moment, I felt like a petulant child being told off by an adult. Evan's voice almost seemed to imply it, and I – as if to prove his point – responded with a childish harrumph. We'd been walking for some time then, but I slowed my pace down even further, determined to shake him off a little.

"She's… been wanting to know you more ever since months ago," Evan explained patiently, "It's just that… all that happened, and she never quite got the chance to. She thought you were cute, too. But you always seemed to avoid her, and then…"

His voice trailed off, and we were silent once more. But he was right. I avoided Alex. Yes, I liked her when I first met her. I liked how genuine she seemed, and I liked how bright and upbeat her personality was. I liked her, truly. But I still avoided her. I avoided her because I knew that she was interested in Evan. I knew she liked Evan, and I knew she had her eyes on him. I was simply never ready for them to get together, and I didn't like the reason why. I almost never wanted that reason to be a possibility. I was quite simply jealous and envious of a girl who had done absolutely nothing wrong. But more and more, especially ever since the night Brandon last called me, I felt myself drifting in Evan's direction. Was it the million-and-one questions? Was it the thrill of sharing a secret with Evan for the first time – and a big secret at that? Was it a conditioned response after finding myself also struggling to not fall for Brandon? Or is it because I was stupid, and even when I told myself I could never do it all over again and get hurt all over again, I couldn't stop myself from throwing myself into the wolves' den? I had to pull myself back somehow. I stopped myself from falling for Evan and turned towards Brandon, only to push him away as well. All the while avoiding the one person who had done nothing wrong and had nothing to do with my personal struggles.

And at that point, I stopped in my tracks. I wasn't ready to see Alex yet. Yes, I wanted to see her off before she goes back to Ireland. Yes, I wanted to send her off happily. Yes, I wanted to thank her for welcoming me to sunny California – but I didn't want to see her _then_. I was sharing my secret with my friend, who was willing to help me keep my million and one points of my secret. I had to share my friend as well? My world had to revolve around hers, as well?

"I – uh – Tell Alex I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I've got something to do."

"Johnathan!" Evan called out as I turned away sharply and began walking away back towards my end of the school.

"I'll be there for the party, I swear!" I responded, not looking back once.

I had nothing to do once I headed back into the school. All I could do was to settle down in a quiet corner in the library and fume needlessly over something that shouldn't have annoyed me at all. Some reflection made me hate myself for being a child at my age. Further reflection made me feel worse. As much as I wanted to get some work done, I couldn't help but fiddle with my phone for a solid hour, before finally deciding to bite the bullet and apologize.

' _I'm sorry_ ,' I typed. ' _I really swear I'll be at the party tomorrow night_.'

It didn't seem to take long before Evan replied. He replied so simply and so unemotionally that I felt like I was almost back in that time when I was avoiding him again. ' _Okay_ ," he said, ever so simply, simple enough to make me feel terrible. There was not a single word from Evan after that. Not a single peep or sign.

I didn't go back to the apartment that night. I intended to, but I decided to turn the other way and go to Scott and Marcel's place instead after hearing a second voice in the apartment. The two of them welcomed me with open arms and even offered to go to Alex's little farewell party with me (it was going to be held at Diane's place, I heard). They didn't ask any questions about what happened between me and Evan, or why we were hot one minute and cold the other, and just accepted that things were the way they were, and that we'd eventually figure out how to get back to being normal again. Their hope was so contagious that I'd even begun to believe it, myself. All in all, they were very gracious sleepover hosts, providing me with two pairs of listening ears and two sets of humorous and fun personalities to be around.

Even the way they woke me up was fun. I fully expected to be woken up with my face adorned with all sorts of genitalia roughly drawn upon my skin with a marker, but instead I woke up to the smell of bacon and pancakes. There Scotty was, flipping pancakes whilst Marcel half-yelled at him to tell him off as he elegantly handled his pan full of bacon. With a smile they greeted the still-sleepy me and handed me a plate with my breakfast on it. I felt much better, so much better then. But in comparison to the rest of the day, that was all so unimportant. Everything else that had happened before that night felt so, so unimportant.

It seemed like it was Evan's turn to avoid me. Wherever I was in Diane's house that night, he seemed to be in the next room over, coordinating his movements with mine. There was another person that seemed to be coordinating his movements with mine, moving with me wherever I was as if he was tailing me from the start to the end. I would've been fine with it given that it was someone I knew, but I still grew uncomfortable with it and eventually snapped –

"Could you – not follow me about?"

Brandon cracked a sheepish smile at me. "I'd love to, but you looked so lonely tonight I couldn't help but follow your scent everywhere. I've got a nose for lonely people, you know."

"It makes me a little – a little uncomfortable when you creep around me like that," I explained. "At least follow me around openly. And actually talk to me rather than keep silent."

"Sure thing, babe." He beamed. "But aren't you following someone as well?"

I sighed softly. "Not really. He just doesn't really want to talk to me."

"Then I guess I have your attention for the whole night, then?" He beamed wider.

"I guess so." I shrugged, and just as I did so, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. "Let me go pick up this call first, will you?"

Almost obediently, Brandon nodded, and stayed in his spot as I wandered off to a less crowded area in the apartment.

My phone was vibrating wildly by the time I attended to it. I rolled my eyes then, not knowing how serious the situation actually was, and picked up the call.

"What's up, Luke?"

"Jonathan…" Luke croaked. His voice was gravelly and low, as if he dreaded speaking to me. "You have to listen, okay?"

"I'm listening." I replied, still not catching on to the gravity of the situation.

"It's not good," he breathed. "The news over here's reporting all over that the Masked Killer got out somehow. Seems like he's got help from outside and has been planning his escape for some time."

"Oh…kay?"

"No, Jonathan, listen. It would've been fine for all of us. It would've been, but then they..."

Luke trailed off, and then sighed. I didn't realize how difficult it was to convey whatever he wanted to convey. Instead, I was impatient. I wanted to get back to Brandon. More than that, I wanted to get back to my happy space at home in my own room with my own diary.

"Go on," I snapped impatiently.

"Jonathan." Luke's tone was grave. "They – they found _his_ body just this morning."

I froze. Luke didn't even need to say his name. I knew immediately from the way Luke said it that he wasn't talking about the Masked Killer. He was talking about someone else. Someone we both knew and someone that I've had a hard time saying used to matter to me. No, he mattered to me alright. He had stolen my heart. He had been my top priority for several months there, even though we couldn't see each other as often as we liked and we had our small romantic getaways confined to a sleepy morning or two a week. He mattered to me.

"Simon. He's… He's dead, Jonathan. They found his body while looking for the Masked Killer. They think he did it and –"

"Don't kid around," I cut in. I refused to believe it. The entire idea was ludicrous to me then. He'd been gone for a little more than a year now. He can't possibly just show up now, and dead at that, coincidentally in the path of the Masked Killer.

"I'm serious, Jonathan. I really am. He's dead, and it's all over the news. Inquiries are being made. Soon you'll even get the police coming to you to ask questions."

"He's been gone over a year!" I almost screamed back. My chest felt fuzzy and uncomfortably full, almost to the point of bursting. I needed to leave. I needed to go back to my happy place. I needed to run away from the world that I was in at the moment. Most of all, I needed someone. I needed someone to hold me.

"Why do I care?!" I continued. "Don't kid around, Luke. I don't have time for this. Dead or not, he's _gone_ , and he's not coming back. _You_ said that to me, and so I'm taking your advice! So there!"

I hung up on Luke rudely, cutting off his protesting voice from the other end with a click of a button. Fuming slightly, I half-stormed back to Brandon.

"Could you give me a ride home?"

"Sure thing," he smiled slightly, evidently taken aback by my change in mood. "Don't you at least want to talk to your roommate and go with him, though? Or at least let him know you're going?"

I looked around. Evan was still in the next room, his right arm tucked firmly around Alex's waist. There was a slight reddish tinge about his cheeks and his arm was lowering ever so slightly and ever so sensually that the raging annoyance within me became much worse.

"Forget it," I responded. "He's probably going to stay over here tonight, anyway."

The drive home couldn't be any slower. It seemed so slow that the moment Brandon got the car parked, I opened the door and rushed out and up towards the stairs. I didn't have the patience to wait for an elevator, let alone Brandon. Brandon, however, caught up with impressive finesse. He seemed almost graceful as he raced after me, the slight smile never slipping and his gaze never wandering away from me. He was chasing me, both physically and mentally.

"Jonathan!" I heard Mrs. Sandler call out as I passed her floor. I slowed to a stop, unwilling to allow my condition affect how I treated the kind old lady.

"You've got a letter," she said, widening the gap in her door. She walked out gracefully in her usual manner, raising her eyebrows slightly at the sight of Brandon.

"I believe I've seen you before," She held out her free hand, which Brandon took with an air of charisma. "Mrs. Sandler. Jonathan's landlady and the bossy old bat of this building."

"Brandon."

"Anyway," Mrs. Sandler turned back towards me, a letter outstretched in her other hand. "This came in earlier. I thought I'd save you the hassle by dropping it off by your apartment before you came back."

I tried to receive the letter from her hands as patiently as I could. Almost immediately, however, I noticed an odd, smoky scent coming from the envelope. The envelope itself seemed harmless. It was a pure, clean white, with some slight crinkles and creases here and there from what I believed was trauma from transportation. There were a few faint dark brown marks at the sides that I brushed off as simply dirt. The contents of the envelope also didn't seem too suspicious – it was thick, but it seemed as if it as a stack of papers or cards. The handwriting upon the envelope wasn't one that I had seen before, and the stamps seemed to indicate that it came from my home state.

"I'd thought most people stopped snail-mailing by now," Mrs. Sandler commented, and turned to leave. "Well, I'll leave you boys to your own thing. Take care of Jonathan, won't you?"

As soon as I heard her door click, my legs began to move again. This time, my hands were moving as well. I tore open the letter swiftly, but almost as soon as I opened the letter and took a peek into its contents, I inhaled sharply and dropped the envelope and its contents all over the stairs. Out came the contents of the letter I had received – dozens upon dozens of Polaroid photographs, each with some brownish stain of some sort on the white edges. The tight, full feeling in my chest came back and grew stronger than ever, and my head swirled. What I saw made me sick to the core, and a wave of nausea was soon boiling within me, threatening to push me over the edge.

"Jonathan?" Brandon called out, a ray of light attempting to penetrate the thick clouds of darkness that grew around me. I felt his arms around mine, hot and strong, attempting to pull me back to my feet as I sank to the ground, pale and shaking. "Please, Jonathan, talk to me!"

I couldn't speak. The moment I opened my mouth, I retched, emptying the contents of my stomach all over the ground and over a portion of the photos. Tears welled up to my eyes as I did, and before I knew it, I was crying uncontrollably. I didn't know when Mrs. Sandler also came along, or when the two of them got me back into the apartment and into the bath, or when I was dressed and swept back into my own bed. All I knew was that as I looked into the letter, I saw the eyes of Simon gaze right back at me. When I dropped the letter, I saw many more pairs, both tortured and soulless appear before me.

In each photo, his face was bloodied, cut open with the brutality of no less than an animal. There were burns and bruises on his face, and his hair – his beautiful dark hair – had been roughly shaved off of his head, leaving visible cuts behind. In some photographs, the cuts were fresh and bloody, and in others, they were festering, filled with vile yellow pus that dribbled from the edges. But the most terrible photo was the very first one that I saw.

His eyes were soulless and dead then, with an eyeball gouged out and placed sadistically out of place. His face was so severely injured that he was barely recognizable. His lips – the very ones I used to kiss – were cut open brutally from cheek to cheek, forming a grotesque smile that made me sick upon seeing it. And right underneath it all, in the white space that was coated in a layer of dried-up, dark brown blood, was a little message that was left for me.

'Love, Jason.'

* * *

 _First of all, I'm so sorry for the really, really long wait! I'm also really sorry about the lack of quality in this chapter. I've only ever gotten time to write it bit by bit, and upon getting a little bit more time this week I decided to complete it to push the plot forward a little bit. I'm not sure if anybody is still following this story much less reading it anymore because of how long you guys have to wait each time...! Either way, I hope you guys didn't mind it all too much and I hope it was still an enjoyable read. I do hope to write more soon, but I do know that in a few months I'll be incredibly busy again so I hope you guys can bear with me!_

 _\- delmin_


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